


The Dark in You

by charmed7293



Series: In the Dark [3]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: BlackIce Week, Come Eating, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Haunting, M/M, Manipulation, Pitch's POV, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding, Salt And Burn, Sequel, Somnophilia, Stripping, definitely non-consensual somnophilia, that's totally a warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmed7293/pseuds/charmed7293
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several months after the incident with the gunman, Jack has come to wholeheartedly embrace his relationship with Pitch.  Moving to an apartment has granted them more privacy, but also unintentionally brings about problems, namely the spirit of a vindictive ghost and a voice whispering in the back of Jack's mind that things with Pitch aren't quite right.</p><p>Sequel to In the Dark</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inside

**Author's Note:**

> First, I would like to say thank you to everyone who read In the Dark and any of my other works, on here, fanfiction.net, and Tumblr. Occasionally, I'll still get some Kudos or a favorite and it really makes my day that people are still reading my story and enjoying it.
> 
> Second, I want to thank [Hikari199111](http://hikari199111.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing for me again. She's awesome and check her out if you haven't already!
> 
> Third, a slight warning. This does get pretty dark, at least in my and Hikari's opinion (and when it's dark for Eli, you _know_ it's dark). I didn't realize how bad it was going to get until I started planning and writing things out more thoroughly and then BAM. So, Imma just throw the rape/noncon warning up. You'll see what I mean when we get there.
> 
> Fourth, this is for BlackIce Week. Woohoo for not following the prompts again!
> 
> And that's it, I think. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Edit** : Just one more quick thing! I put together the songs that are the chapter titles of In the Dark onto a playlist! It can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/charmed7293/in-the-dark) on 8Tracks.

Jack stands in the middle of his new apartment. It is small and dingy, sparsely furnished, and the landlady said the shower runs cold when the toilet flushes. None of that matters, though, because it is _his_. Besides, he’s the only one living there – well, not quite, but the only one who’ll be making use of those facilities. To his knowledge, Pitch doesn’t need to eat or sleep or anything of the like.

Pitch does, however, need to inspect every inch of their new space. Dusk’s light filtering through the slated blinds of the windows provides the perfect atmosphere for Pitch to shift through the shadows, and Jack can hardly get a fix on him before he’s melding into the darkness and appearing on the other side of the room. After a few minutes, Pitch finally stops near a stain on the wall.

“Do you really think this place is livable? This looks very much like mold,” he says, running a finger over the stain.

Jack rolls his eyes and decides to ignore the comments. “Are you sure you’re able to follow me here? Like, you’re not tied to my room or anything?”

“I can go to any place I please. I simply prefer that to be wherever you are. And don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not trying to change the subject. I mean, if you can’t be here then it’s not exactly habitable, is it?” Jack takes a few steps toward Pitch, a suggestive smile tilting his lips.

“You’re still avoiding my question,” Pitch says as he crosses his arms. Jack knows he has to answer before they can move on.

“I don’t think that’s mold. It’s probably just a water stain or something. Since when do you care anyway? It’s not like it can affect you.”

“But it can harm _you_.”

Ah, there it is. Pitch’s overprotective tendencies haven’t let up since the incident with the gunman several months ago. Jack supposes he can understand Pitch’s worries, but they’re also wearisome and occasionally interfere with his everyday life. He’s really not in danger at any point, yet Pitch acts as if it lurks around every corner.

“Listen, okay? I’m fine. Nothing is out to get me. Everything is fine. And if there is mold here, I can just sue the landlady and make enough money to afford a nice, fancy, mold-free apartment. Sound good?”

“You’re not taking things seriously enough –”

“What is there to take seriously!”

“Jack.” Pitch’s tone causes him to pause. The weight Pitch put into saying just his name snags his attention.

“What?” Jack responds, this time without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“There’s a lot to worry about. Do you really think I’m the only supernatural being? There are others out there, like myself, and they are not as benevolent.”

A voice in the back of Jack’s head whispers that Pitch wasn’t benevolent either, that he terrorized him as a young child and did much worse when he was older. He pushes it aside, reminding himself that he’s happier now than he ever was.

“Well, they’re not as powerful as you, right? You can –”

“There are some that, while not stronger on the basis of individual power, have certain aspects that specifically target my weaknesses. That makes them formidable enemies.”

“But still beatable?”

“Not without some trouble, which I would rather avoid.”

“But still beatable?” Jack repeats.

“In the end, yes. But there’s no telling what could happen in the time it would take for such a spirit to be defeated.”

“But they’ll still be defeated! All I’m saying is that everything would turn out right in the end.” When Pitch doesn’t answer right away, Jack adds, “Just like it did last time.”

“I suppose,” Pitch answers after a pause.

“Now that we got that out of the way . . .” Jack takes a step toward Pitch again and, this time, Pitch relents, reaching out to cup Jack’s cheek, pulling him closer. “You know, when you move into a new place, it’s a tradition to christen it by having sex in every room.”

Jack knows his victory is secured when Pitch smirks. “Normally I would find your human traditions frivolous, but I approve of this one. It’s just a shame there are so few rooms here.”

Jack’s lips curl into a smirk of his own as they press against Pitch’s. His hands come up to grip the front of Pitch’s robe and arms wrap around him in a trapping embrace. This is one of Jack’s favorite parts of their more intimate activities, just being surrounded by Pitch.

Pitch’s hands slide down and hook around the backs of his thighs, lifting him up. Jack braces his knees around Pitch’s waist and wraps his arms around Pitch’s neck for extra support.

Pitch breaks the kiss long enough to hurriedly whisper, “Where to?”

“Wherever’s – closest,” Jack manages between kisses.

The couch is right next to them and Pitch walks in that direction, so Jack expects to be thrown down onto it and then crushed by Pitch’s weight. He’s surprised when Pitch lowers him to his feet and completely releases him before sitting back himself.

“Take off your hoodie, Jack,” he says simply, crossing his ankle over a knee.

Jack’s heart skips a beat. Pitch wants to watch him undress. This is something they’ve never done before. Most of the time, they are in such a hurry that Jack never quite manages to shed all his clothes, that or they’re ripped off too quickly for either of them to savor the moment.

Swallowing past his suddenly dry throat, Jack grips the hem of his hoodie and quickly pulls it up and over his head. He’s wearing a shirt underneath, but he’s still self-conscious as he drops the hoodie to the floor.

“Now your shirt. Slower this time.” The way Pitch appraises him makes him feel _examined_.

With tightly shut eyes, Jack curls his fingers around the bottom of his shirt. He’s not sure what pace Pitch wants, so he pulls it up to right above his navel in the time it takes to inhale.

“Just like that, but open your eyes.”

Jack’s legs go weak at that. He’s mortified enough just thinking about this, never mind looking at Pitch as he actually does it. As he continues pulling his shirt up, he forces his eyes open. The intensity of the hunger reflected in Pitch’s eyes makes Jack want to close them again, but thankfully he’s pulling the shirt over his head and the eye contact is broken.

It’s not until the shirt has fallen to the floor beside the hoodie that Jack realizes there is nothing left to hide his face behind. He resists the urge to cover it with his hands, opting to stare right at Pitch with a bravado he doesn’t really feel.

“Very nice.” Jack swears he can feel pinpricks of sensation as Pitch’s eyes rake over his body. “I’m sure you know what comes next.”

Oh, he knows. It’s obvious, just like the bulge in his pants, which is about to become even more obvious. Jack fumbles with the button of his jeans and forgets how zippers work, but he refuses to look down; he doesn’t want to look away from Pitch.

Finally unfastened, his pants slip past his hips. Here, Jack hesitates. Bending over seems too awkward a position for this, but it’s the only way to remove his pants. Figuring he might as well make the most of it, he turns around before he can lose his nerve. The direction he’s facing presents Pitch with a nice view of his ass when he bends over. Jack sneaks a glance at Pitch and is nearly overwhelmed at the approval he sees. He has to turn all his concentration to stepping out of his jeans so he doesn’t fall over.

Left in his boxers, Jack is glad the first thing he did when he arrived at the apartment was remove his shoes and socks so he could pad around barefoot; the fewer articles of clothing to fumble through removing, the better.

He turns back to Pitch for further instruction. There really is only one action he can take, one article of clothing to shed, but he can’t bring himself to do it of his own volition.

“Now, Jack,” Pitch says, a lazy smile creeping across his face, “there’s only one thing left.”

Jack nods in affirmative, knowing there’s nothing to do short of pulling down his boxers, which he isn’t going to do without an explicit statement from Pitch.

“So . . . _take them off_ ,” Pitch hisses, ending with a biting smirk.

Even though he’s gotten what he wanted, it’s difficult to convince himself to follow through with it. Jack toys with the elastic waistband, thankful that Pitch didn’t tell him to look at him this time. He forces himself to grip and pull down. It’s done swiftly and he kicks his boxers to the side. When he finally does look up, he becomes acutely aware that Pitch is still wearing all his own clothes, which is unfair and arousing at the same time.

“Very good, Jack.” Despite his embarrassment, the praise pleases Jack and he can’t help but stand a little straighter. “You can come here now.”

Jack, knowing _this_ will take his mind off how vulnerable he feels, quickly approaches Pitch and straddles his lap. He finds that he is wrong, as the strange material of Pitch’s pants scratches against his inner thighs and reminds him that Pitch is still completely clothed while he is not.

Pitch’s hands strokes up his sides, distracting him. Jack gives himself over to the sensation, grinding against Pitch, moaning at how hard they both are. Pitch’s hands move back down his body, curling around to his back. They cup his ass, encouraging Jack’s movements and pulling him closer.

Jack freezes when the hands grip his cheeks and pull them apart. A finger circles his entrance with a feather-light touch and he shudders, arching his back. He wants to push back on it, but knows Pitch is testing his restraint. Settling for clutching Pitch’s shoulders, Jack lets a high keen escape from his throat. He begs with his eyes, though he can tell Pitch is going to make him beg with his words before he goes any further.

“What do you want, Jack?”

“I-I want –“ Jack abruptly cuts off when he feels the tip of Pitch’s finger breach him. His lust finally overtakes his embarrassment and he bursts out, “I want you inside me.”

He gasps as the finger slips in until knuckles rest against his ass. It’s only just a portion of what he hoped for; he’s going to have to tell Pitch to get what he really wants.

“More,” he moans.

“Already? I’ve barely started.” Despite his words, Pitch’s tone conveys he would like nothing more than to comply.

“Please!” Jack’s voice is strained from the effort of keeping still.

The finger slowly pulls out nearly all the way before sliding back in with a second finger. They spread inside, stretching him, and Jack has to clench his jaw and press his face into Pitch’s shoulder to keep himself under control. His legs are starting to ache from how tensed he must keep them to prevent any movement.

The fingers continue thrusting into him, and Jack just barely holds on. He’s so close already. Letting go is so tempting, but he knows that’s not what Pitch wants and Jack is desperate to please him.

When the fingers hit that spot inside him, he jerks involuntarily and nearly comes right then. Pitch’s other hand, still gripping his ass cheek, gives a reprimanding squeeze.

“Please, Pitch, please. I can’t hold on much longer.” Jack’s voice is high, just shy of being a whine.

“Soon, Jack,” Pitch says and the fingers withdraw, leaving Jack feeling terribly empty.

Pitch levers him up and Jack feels the head of his cock nudge at his entrance before he’s lowered down onto it. He bites his lip, choking back a moan when he finally settles against Pitch’s hips. Jack is ready to begin right away, but Pitch stays him with a firm hand on his hip.

It’s not long before Jack’s shaking with the effort of not moving. Then, Pitch’s hand leaves his hip to card through his hair and Pitch leans forward to whisper in his ear, “Show me how much you want it, Jack.”

He’s all too happy to comply.

His legs are already sore, but he forces himself up and back down. The pace he sets is too fast, too erratic, too sloppy, but he doesn’t care. He’s desperate and determined and he’s going after what he wants. And what he wants is Pitch.

Though he’s panting and _almost there_ much sooner than he would have liked, Jack can tell from Pitch’s expression that he is close as well. “That’s it, Jack, just like that. Let go, I know you want to.”

That encouragement is all he needs and Jack cries out as he comes, throwing his head back. Pitch begins to thrust up as he clenches around him, the tightness bringing about his own release.

Thoroughly sated, Jack slumps forward to curl into Pitch’s chest. Pitch holds him, running a hand through his hair and murmuring words of praise in his ear.

 _This is perfect_ , is all Jack can think.


	2. Intruder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say, except thank you so much to everyone who commented or left Kudos! Between this and fanfiction.net, I literally got 12 e-mails about getting a favorite or a comment or a review _one hour_ after I posted. You guys are amazing!
> 
> Also, things are starting to get creepy. Just, some of the lines. Really. Creep. Me. Out. They may not be the ones you think.

Even after a few weeks, the apartment is still perfect. It could just be the lingering glow of something new and exciting, but Jack thinks the privacy obtained with the move is enough to make that feeling last a long time.

Not worrying about getting caught is liberating. He and Pitch are free to do whatever they like, wherever they like, without anxiety. The small table in the kitchen area has become a favorite, the couch has certainly been broken in and – despite his initial apprehension – Jack greatly enjoyed that time against the window; he now thinks twice when complaining about living on the top floor of a five-story apartment building.

Another benefit of the apartment is its central location to nearly every place in town. Running errands isn’t an all-day affair anymore, which he especially appreciates as he’s been forgetting things a lot lately.

For instance, Jack is just realizing he doesn’t even have his wallet with him. His back pockets are empty and only handful of change occupies the ones in the front.

“Um, sorry, I guess I forgot my money,” he says awkwardly to the cashier. He nervously glances back at the people in line behind him, people who probably expected a short wait from his few items.

The girl at the register only snaps her gum and gives him a bored stare in response, as if saying, “What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

“I live right down the street. Could you just hold my stuff for a few minutes? I’ll be right back.” The bubble blowing and eye rolling seem to be an affirmative, and Jack heads out of the grocery store. His apartment is close, so he doesn’t bother rushing. The cashier didn’t seem too concerned anyway.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his building and climb the stairs. Once inside his apartment, he checks the small table next to the door, placed there to hold things he doesn’t want to forget when he goes out. His wallet isn’t there nor is it the back pockets of the pants he wore yesterday nor is it on his dresser. Getting desperate, he turns on the light and pulls the blinds up to search under his bed and the couch. Nothing.

Perhaps Pitch moved it. Though Jack doubts that, it won’t hurt to ask.

Shutting off the lights and closing the blinds, Jack tentatively calls, “Pitch?”

“Yes?” Pitch’s voice sounds right next to him and a hot hand grips the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss. Jack reciprocates, but moves away before it becomes too heated.

“Have you seen my wallet anywhere? I can’t seem to find it.”

“No. Can’t you keep track of your own belongings?” Pitch asks in that inoffensive condescending tone only he can pull off.

“Well, yeah, which is why not being able to find my wallet is a problem. I could’ve sworn I left it on that table . . .”

“You think I moved it?” Pitch questions, picking up on the slightly accusing lilt in Jack’s voice. “I’ve never touched your possessions.”

“Yes, you have,” Jack says quietly, referring to his nightlight. He’s not sure how he intends for that sentence to be received. Is he simply stating a fact? Is he calling Pitch out on his mistake? Is he trying to get Pitch to admit something?

Pitch is silent and Jack wonders if he’ll respond at all. “ _That_ . . . that was different.”

The voice inside his head is screaming, but Jack ignores it; there are more important things to focus on. “Whatever, I just need to find it so I can get back to the store to pay for some groceries. Could you help me look?”

“Of course.”

Even with both of them searching, there is no trace of his wallet. They do, however, find several other objects that were missing. Jack knew they weren’t been left behind during the move, as Pitch suggested. He even remembered placing them in specific spots, only for them to be gone when he went to retrieve them.

“I told you I brought this with us,” Jack says, holding up a case that holds his DVDs. “and I know I put it on the side table here.” As he places it back on the said side table, he gives Pitch a meaningful look.

“I already said I didn’t touch anything,” Pitch says testily. “No matter how often I complain about being forced to watch –”

“I didn’t mean that. I was referring to you saying I forgot everything that’s gone missing. But now we’ve found most of it, so I obviously didn’t forget it. I just want you to admit you were wrong.” Jack smirks.

Pitch doesn’t look as if he’s willing to do such a thing. Jack just laughs, but quickly sobers, thinking of another thing Pitch had said. “Still, that doesn’t explain why they’ve been disappearing in the first place. But . . . remember our first day here, when you mentioned that there were other things? Beings like you.”

“You think another spirit is doing this? That is plausible. And concerning.”

“Yes, but there’s still nothing to be concerned about,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “It’s only hiding stuff. Besides, no harm done because we found most of it and I’m sure the rest is around here somewhere. The spirit is just being mischievous.”

“Spirits always start out ‘just being mischievous.’ It doesn’t stay that way for long.”

Jack has to ignore the voice again, when it says that was exactly what happened with Pitch. It’s become much harder to tune out lately.

“Well, we’ll just deal with it _if_ it reaches that point. For now, it’s fine. I’ll just use some extra money I have lying around and wait for my wallet to turn up. Judging by how long some of this stuff was missing, it should only take two or three days.”

“Jack, ignoring the problem isn’t going to work. Spirits are unrelenting. They don’t give up.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Jack’s reply is a bit snappier than he intended, but he can’t bring himself to care too much. The voice approves.

This time, Jack is sure Pitch isn’t going to answer. He looks shocked and confused and even slightly conflicted, making Jack regret his outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, stepping up to Pitch and tangling his hands in his robe. “This _is_ kind of freaking me out a little bit, but it’s just that I feel safe with you. I know nothing bad could happen when I’m with you.”

“That is true, but what if I’m not with you?” Pitch says, just as quietly as he brings his hands up to either side of Jack’s face. Jack leans into the touch. “What if the spirit decides to reveal itself during the day, when I’m at my weakest and may not be able to appear?”

“Then I’ll manage until it gets dark. I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

“Oh, really? Past events have led me to believe otherwise.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jack insists. “I do need to get going, though. I left the stuff I was gonna buy at the store and I do need it,” he adds, pulling out of Pitch’s hold to dig through his drawers for the cash he keeps hidden between the folded shirts.

“Oh, yes, you have a guest tonight.”

“I do and it would be greatly appreciated if you wouldn’t appear? I really don’t want to scare her. It was close enough last time.” Jack counts out enough money to pay for the groceries and slips it into his pocket.

“Fine. But if I believe you are threatened in any way, either by the spirit or by your guest, I cannot promise as much.”

“Of course, of course,” Jack says while rolling his eyes. He seriously doubts that will happen, but it’s much easier to indulge Pitch in his protectiveness than try and convince him out of it. “I’m just going to get the groceries and then stop by her store to pick her up. It won’t take too long. I’ll see you after she leaves!” he calls over his shoulder as he closes the door behind him, just in time to see Pitch melt in the shadows.


	3. Interruption

After paying the cashier at the grocery store, who looked just as bored and uncaring as ever, Jack heads to see another cashier, one he is much more excited to see.

The convenience store is only a few blocks away from the grocery store, a five minute walk at most.  He smiles as he walks in, sending the bell into jingles.  The recently replaced lighting shines bright, reflecting off the newly cleaned linoleum floor.  Despite its spotlessness, Jack can’t bring himself to look at a particular area.  He even skirts around it as he makes his way to the counter.  Resting his arms on the counter, he sees the cashier kneeing over some boxes with her back to him.  She seems to be almost finished with what she is doing, so he waits for her to turn around.

After she places some items into one of the boxes, she hefts it into her arms and stands.  Turning around, she finally sees him.  “Jack!  How long have you been standing there?”

“Hey, Tooth,” he says, leaning over to give her a hug once she has placed the box on the counter.  Their friendship is one he never expected, but it is also one he couldn’t be more grateful for.  They struck it up when he walked by the convenience store just a few days after the incident, at the same time Tooth was outside, pacing nervously and looking almost as if she was going to be sick.  They shared a moment of recognition, so Jack felt compelled to stop and talk to her.  Her simple statement that the floors were being cleaned was enough of an explanation for her agitated state and Jack stayed with her until the cleaning crew was finished, distracting them both from thoughts of that night.  He left with her number in his phone and a promise to meet up again.

“I wasn’t waiting too long,” he reassures her.  “I didn’t want to rush you.”

“Ugh, you should have said something.  My dad said I could leave as soon as you got here.”

“Is your dad here?” Jack asks.  He quite likes Tooth’s father, and not just because he occasionally gives Jack free stuff as a way of making up for the incident happening in his store.

“Nope.  One of the new kids is gonna have his first night alone.  Speaking of which . . .”  The way Tooth trails off clearly indicates that she didn’t have high hopes for this new kid.  “Hey!  Monty!  Get out here!”

Jack chuckles; Tooth can be a hard ass when she wants to be.  From the stockroom, there is the sound of boxes falling to the ground and a muffled apology before a scrawny kid – and, as someone who is considered scrawny himself, Jack doesn’t use that word lightly – with glasses nearly falls through the door.

“Y-yes?”

Tooth sighs in irritation as she walks out from behind the counter.  “I’m leaving now.  You can manage by yourself, right?”

“I-I’ll try,” Monty stammers.  It seems he’s attempting to stand straight to show confidence, but also remain hunched over as a sign of submission to Tooth, making for a rather strange posture.  Jack desperately tries to hide his laughter.  He really does feel bad for the kid – working under Tooth probably wasn’t much fun – and doesn’t want to make him any more embarrassed than he obviously very much is.

“Only try?” Tooth asks exasperatedly.  “Never mind, don’t answer that.  Let’s just go, Jack.”  They head toward the door as Monty takes his place behind the register, but Tooth suddenly stops, grabbing Jack’s arm.  “Wait!  I forgot something.  Be right back.”

As soon as she disappears into the stockroom, Monty speaks, much more confident now that he is no longer in Tooth’s presence.  “You’re the other person who was here that-that night, right?  When the place was robbed?”

Not expecting Monty to be so bold and upfront compared to his previously timid behavior, Jack is thrown off guard.  “Um, yeah, that would be me, but I would really rather not talk about it.”

“I just have one question.  What do you think happened?  To the guy?  They told me this place was just robbed, but I remember seeing it being reported on the news.  That guy was brutally mur–”

“Monty, enough!” Tooth calls sharply.  She walks up to Jack and puts her free hand on his shoulder, steering him toward the door.  Instead of thinking about what he knows killed the gunman, he focuses on the paper bag Tooth balances on her hip.

“S-sorry!” Monty calls as they exit the convenience store.

Once they are a ways down the street, Tooth lets out a huge sigh, her whole body relaxing with the exhale.  “I’m so sorry about that.  The two new kids are just extremely curious about the attack.  They asked me quite a few invasive questions as well.”

“It’s okay.  I just . . . wasn’t expecting it.”  When they first started hanging out, Jack and Tooth were both worried that they would accidently bring up memories of that night, so would always warn each other before saying something they thought would do so.  Having it brought up so suddenly was disconcerting.

“We had quite a few job openings afterwards and these two kids Jamie and Monty were the only people who applied.  No one wanted to work at a place where something like that happened, so we had to hire them.  Honestly, I think Jamie’s the one who is really interested and he just dragged Monty along for the ride.”

“I understand.  Let’s just not talk about _that_ tonight, okay?”

“Of course!  There are much more exciting things to do.  Like your housewarming gift,” Tooth says, letting him peek inside the paper bag.  A smile stretches across Jack’s face at the six pack of beer at the bottom.  “I know you’re not legal yet, but if you’re old enough to live on your own, you’re old enough to drink!”

Jack has to agree.  He was already looking forward to this night, but now it just got better.

They each crack open a beer as soon as they enter Jack’s apartment and Tooth gets to work teaching Jack to make homemade mac and cheese.  They’re both halfway through a second by the time they start eating, but Tooth makes him stop until they put on _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ to play a drinking game.  Jack definitely feels tipsy by the end of the movie and his third beer.  Maybe a little tipsier than he thought because the room tilts when he gets up to eject the disc from the DVD player.

After some difficulty with the case, Jack flops back down on the couch.  Tooth laughs, her giggle a bit more unrestrained than usual.  She drains the rest of her last beer and stares sadly at the bottle.

“Ugh, I c’n tell that I’m already drunk ’cause I’m not even _embarrassed_ by how much of a lightweight I am.  I haven’t drank in sooooo long.”

Jack just hums in agreement and closes his eyes, just letting his body feel the nice buzz he has going.  They sit in companionable silence.  In his comfort, Jack starts to drift off.

Tooth’s hand touches his knee and he startles, eyes flying open.  He stares at the hand before following it to her arm and up to her face, which is filled with sincerity.

“I’m really glad we’re friends, Jack,” she says quietly, leaning closer, her hand sliding farther up his leg.  “It means a lot to me, having someone with the same experience, who knows what I went through.”

“You said we wouldn’t talk about that,” he whispers, his muddled mind not knowing how to process the situation.

“I did, didn’t I?  Okay then, let’s . . . not . . . talk . . . at . . . all . . .”  Tooth’s voice is just as low and she moves closer with every word and she’s not saying any more words, but she’s still moving closer and what is she doing, Jack doesn’t know what to do–

It’s dark.

Tooth gives a short scream that comes from the other side of the room.

She’s not beside him on the couch anymore.

Jack’s suddenly feels very sober.

He throws himself off the couch and toward where he hears Tooth’s fast, panicked breathing.

“Don’t you dare touch him again!” Pitch snarls.  “He.  Is.  _Mine_.”

There’s a flash of light.  Pitch growls and Jack sees him back away.  He quickly puts himself between Pitch and Tooth.  Needless to say, he’s surprised when Tooth grabs his hand and drags _him_ behind her.

“Jack!  What are you doing!” she whispers out as she scans the room with a small flashlight.  “This is dangerous.  Don’t try and be all heroic!”

“I’m not trying to be heroic!  I know what I’m doing.”

“And so do I!”  Jack realizes that Tooth is shaking with _anger_ , not fear as he thought.  “Show yourself!  Your actions are not appreciated and your presence is not wanted here.”

“What are you doing!” Jack hisses.  Tooth shining the flashlight around like that isn’t going to help them find Pitch; it’s only going to piss him off, especially since she’s practically _taunting_ him!

“Jack, I know how to deal with this,” Tooth says, before addressing Pitch again.  “I suggest you leave us alone or–”

“Or what?”  Pitch’s voice comes from right behind them, but moves around them as he continues talking.  Tooth shifts so she remains between Jack and Pitch as he circles them.  “What could _you_ , a human, possibly do to _me_?  You fancy yourself a hunter, don’t you?”

Tooth tightens the grip on the flashlight and Jack feels her stiffen.  He doesn’t know what Pitch is talking about, but it’s clear his words mean something to Tooth.

“Oh, you _do_. This is going to be interesting.  I haven’t pitted myself against a hunter in a long time, even a half-baked one such as yourself.”

“I’m more than enough of a hunter to take you on!” Tooth counters, voice unwavering and filled with anger.

“Really now.”  Jack’s eyes have adjusted enough to see Pitch stop and stand right in front of them.  He doesn’t look too impressed with Tooth’s declarations.  “Why don’t you show me?  Or are you just all talk?”

Tooth tenses, taking the bait, and Jack grabs her arms, holding her back.  “Stop!  Both of you!  What are you talking about?”

“Jack, it’s a ghost, a spirit, obviously one with malicious intent.  You have to get out of here.  I’ll deal with it.”  Tooth is all business and Jack wonders why she seems to know what she’s talking about.

“Yes, Jack, run away while you still can,” Pitch mocks and then Jack feels his arm wrap around his waist, tugging him away from Tooth and against Pitch’s chest.

“Jack!” Tooth shouts out in panic.

Pitch other arm slides around Jack’s chest, holding him in a trapping embrace as he whispers, “Too late.  He’s been unable to run for quite a while now.”

“Knock it off!” Jack bursts out.  He struggles against Pitch’s arms, which loosen and allow him to slip free, though reluctantly.  Jack whacks him on the upper arm before turning to Tooth to reassure her that everything is okay.

“Jack, what are you doing?!”  Tooth reaches out to grab him, but Jack’s had enough of being pulled around.

“Stop!  Just stop.  Let me explain.”  When Tooth and Pitch both remain silent, Jack continues.  “Tooth, this is Pitch.  He’s not a malicious spirit or whatever, not exactly, but he _is_ a spirit and he just gets overprotective of me.”

“Wait,” Tooth says slowly.  “You know it?”

“Him.  And, yes, I do.  So, you remember that night?  Of course you do.  Well, that – with the gunman – was Pitch.”

“You’re the one who killed the gunman?” Tooth asks, directing her question at Pitch.

“Yes, I was.  I don’t take kindly to people hurting Jack.  Or touching him in a manner I deem unacceptable,” Pitch growls.  Jack sees Tooth’s eyes widen, and then narrow in anger.  He sincerely hopes she doesn’t make too many connections.

“I already told you to stop,” Jack snaps, feeling his own anger seep to the surface.  Pitch and Tooth are both very important to him and he doesn’t want them threatening to hurt each other.  He can tell Pitch is displeased with being ordered around, but he backs down.

“So, how long have you been in contact?” Tooth asks Jack.

“It’s been months now and nothing bad has happened.  Besides that stuff with the gunman.  But it wasn’t exactly bad since–OW!”  Jack cuts off mid-sentence as something angular hits the back of his head.  He hears it thump softly to the floor and bends down to pick it up.

“What was that?” Tooth asks.

“My wallet,” Jack says with slight wonder.  “It went missing this morning.  A lot of things have gone missing lately, actually, so we thought–”

“It was another ghost?  Could be.”  The both jump when some dishes crash to the floor in the kitchen.  Tooth quickly turns the flashlight in that direction.  Broken pieces of ceramic and glass litter the floor, but there’s nothing that could have caused it.  Roving the room with the light reveals nothing.

“I can’t sense anything,” Pitch states and, looking up at him, Jack sees he’s perplexed.  Jack also finds it strange, as they are in darkness and Pitch should be at his strongest.

Something bumps against his foot and he glances down to see one of the beer bottles.

“By the couch!”  He grabs Tooth’s hand and directs the beam of light to the specified location.  There _is_ something there.

A very humanoid shape hovers just barely above the ground.  It has a face, but the features are so twisted that it’s barely recognizable as human.  There are holes punctured all over the body, but what’s the most startling is that it has no shadow.  The light doesn’t wrap around its silhouette, projecting its image onto the wall and shining through the holes.

It does seem to be affected by the light in other ways, namely making it angry.  Its face warps even more and it rushes toward them.

“Get down!” Tooth shouts as she grabs his arm and throws them both to the floor.  Jack lands hard, his hands just barely catching himself before his nose is crushed against the boards.  Tooth quickly points the flashlight back up.  The ghost is gone.

Jack lies there, panting, for several moments before slowly rolling onto his back.  He feels Pitch’s hand touch his forehead and he leans into the contact, anchoring himself.  Once he feels he is able, Jack sits up, leaning into the arm Pitch puts around his back to support him.

“What . . . was that?” he asks.

“That was another ghost,” Tooth answers, and Jack realizes that she has already gotten up and is opening the blinds to let the meager light from the street lamps into the room.  “I’m still not sure about your ghost, but this one definitely had malicious intent.”

Pitch gives him a look that clearly says, “I told you so,” and Jack rolls his eyes.  He makes to stand and lets Pitch help him up.  He does get annoyed when Pitch doesn’t remove his hands, but he allows it.

“I think I may know what kind of ghost that was, but I’ll need to do some research first,” Tooth continues.

“And you know where to do, uh, _that_ kind of research.”

“Yeah, I might as well tell you.  I’ve been researching and hunting ghosts for a while now.  My mother taught me most of what I know.  Remember all those times I told you she was away on business trips?  She was actually on ghost hunts.”

“Oh,” Jack says simply.  He supposes it’s easier to just accept it.  It really isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened since this all started.

“I should get going, anyway.  It’s pretty late.  Are you good?”

“I’ll be fine.  I have Pitch here.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Tooth looks as if she wasn’t too sure about that, but heads toward the door anyway.  “I’ll stop by tomorrow or something with the research.”

“Sounds good.  See you then.”

As Jack shuts the door behind her, Pitch’s hands wrap around his hips and pull him back.  Jack feels hot breath near his neck, but he moves away before Pitch can bite or kiss him.

“Don’t you even _dare_.  I’m still mad at you.  How could you do something like that?”

“She _touched_ you, Jack!  And you know very well what would have happened if I hadn’t interfered and I wasn’t going to allow _that_.”

Jack takes a deep breath and holds it.  He already knows Pitch doesn’t share the same perceptions as human do, which, combined with his possessiveness, doesn’t mean anything good.  He exhales with a long sigh.

“Just – _don’t do_ something like that again,” he finally manages.  “We’re going to have to work with Tooth if we want to get rid of this other ghost.  Don’t think I didn’t notice that it didn’t have a shadow.  That’s why you couldn’t tell it was here, right?”

“That is true,” Pitch grudgingly admits.  “My powers won’t have much of an effect on a spirit like that.  The ‘magic’ – if it can even be called that – humans use is different.”

“Good.  I want you on your best behavior when you see Tooth, then.”

“Stop being so condescending.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if I thought you could control yourself and not attack her!”

“Very well,” Pitch says tersely, accepting Jack’s terms.

Jack nods.  “I’m going to bed then.”

In the bedroom, he strips down to his boxers.  Once he’s settled under the blankets, he feels the whisper of Pitch’s touch against the bare skin of his arm.  Sighing, he relaxes as Pitch wraps an arm around him.  Sleep comes easy, as it always does when Pitch is with him.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really difficult to write because I kept squicking out. Honestly, it was written _sentences_ at a time. Like, write a sentence, nope out, come back the next day, repeat. It's also the main source of creepy for this fic (I blame Pitch's POV). People seemed to think that when I said things creeped me out, I meant the other spirit. Nope. I meant this chapter and everything that it implies. Make of it what you will.
> 
> Kagayaku-Creations drew some amazing fanart of this chapter! It can be viewed just below, as xe has given me permission to post it within the chapter, and the rebloggable version on Tumblr can be found [here](http://charmed7293.tumblr.com/post/67112458090/kagayaku-creations-fanart-for-charmed7293s-fic).

  


Jack lays sprawled beneath him.  So peaceful, so relaxed, so beautiful in his sleep.  Pitch reaches out a hand to push snow white bangs off a pale forehead.  Jack doesn’t stir.

Bringing his other hand to join the first, he cups Jack’s face and lightly brushes the lids of closed eyes with the pads of his thumbs.  Still nothing from Jack.

Pitch leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of slightly parted lips as his hands trail down Jack’s neck and trace over his collarbone.  His lips follow his hands, and Jack finally shifts when he reaches that sensitive spot on his neck.  It’s not a movement of discomfort, and Jack sleeps on.

Dragging his palms down Jack’s bare chest, Pitch marvels at the expansion of lungs, at the rushing of blood, at the beating of a heart.  How can Jack appear so at rest when his body is working so hard to keep him alive?

He must also work hard to keep Jack alive.  This other spirit they encountered is strange and dangerous.  It showed direct hostility toward Jack, so it must be disposed of.  Pitch certainly wants nothing more than to obliterate the spirit, but it doesn’t cast a shadow.  He is a being of shadow and dark.  Shadows are his domain, his alone to command and manipulate.  But a being outside that realm, a spirit without a shadow, is out of his control.  Pitch doesn’t like things being out of his control.

But he will find a way around that.  To protect Jack.

Pitch takes comfort in the fact that there _is_ something he can control: that hunter girl.  He knows Jack likes her, but even such a thing doesn’t excuse what she did, thinking she had such a level of familiarity and intimacy with Jack so as to _touch_ him.  Despite not being as frightened as she should be, Pitch can tell she is wary of him.  Even so, he can work with what she’s given him.  One thing that continues to bother him about the whole situation is her supposed knowledge of the supernatural. This is potentially very problematic: other spirits he can simply fight, but the tripping and spell casting of humans is a different matter.

But Pitch doesn’t have to worry about any of that right now.  Right now it’s just him and Jack.

His hands trail lower, following the protrusion of Jack’s hipbone down to the line of Jack’s boxers, the only clothing he wears to bed.  He slips his thumbs under the waistband and pulls down, slowly freeing Jack from the material.  With a quick glance at Jack’s face, Pitch confirms he is still asleep.

Jack is soft, but Pitch plans to correct that soon enough.  He shifts down, so his mouth is level with Jack’s crotch.  Leaning forward, he licks a stripe up Jack’s cock.  He keeps his eyes on Jack’s face the entire time, watching carefully for a reaction.  He gets none and is glad of that.  As much as he loves to see Jack respond to his ministrations, his goal tonight is simply to reassure himself of his position in Jack’s life.  Pitch is loath to admit that he needs such a thing, but it is unavoidable.

He takes Jack fully into his mouth, swallowing him down to the base.  Twisting and twining his tongue around Jacks’ length, he holds his position, not needing air as a human would.  He pulls back when Jack moans and shifts, if only to watch Jack’s face scrunch up in pleasure.

Being asleep causes different reactions and Jack responds much quicker than he would if he was awake.  He’s already half-hard by the time Pitch pulls all the way off.

Pitch’s hands slip further down, under Jack’s knees, lifting them up gradually and hooking them over his own shoulders.  With Jack fully exposed, Pitch can’t resist much longer.  He quickly slides a finger into Jack, the shadowy substance that makes up his body facilitating the intrusion.  After several thrusts of his finger, Pitch’s patience wears thin and he adds a second.  Jack breathes in deeply and Pitch pauses, but resumes moving after seeing that Jack is still asleep.

Once he thinks Jack is opened up enough for him, he removes his fingers and shifts into a better position.  He eases in slowly, as to not wake Jack.  Buried to the hilt, he simply holds himself there and stares at Jack’s face.  Other than a slight pulling of muscles around the eyes, there’s no indication Jack is aware of what’s going on.  Pitch would be concerned that Jack is so oblivious if he hadn’t used a bit of his own magical influence to deepen Jack’s sleep.

The pace Pitch sets is slow; it must be so he doesn’t wake Jack.  His magic is powerful, but he knows it will not keep Jack under for all disturbances.  It may take him a while to reach his peak pleasure, but he has all night.

He keeps his gaze on Jack’s face the entire time, noting the subtle changes that occur as he adjusts his angle.  Different facial muscles twitch and a variety of sighs, all beautiful, escape Jack’s lips.  The gasp when Pitch finds the angle he has been seeking is perfection itself.

Jack reacts actively and Pitch takes a risk by speeding up.  At the first moan, he pauses completely, waiting for Jack to settle again, to sink down from the surface.  It’s a form of torture, denying himself full satisfaction, but it’s necessary to get any satisfaction at all.

Moving again, it’s not long before Pitch is close.  His anticipation runs too high, the buildup to this moment becomes too much.  Jack’s breathing speeds up in time with Pitch’s thrusts, a good indication that he is close as well. Wanting to come simultaneously, Pitch wraps his hand around Jack and stokes him gently, attempting to time it correctly _and_ not wake Jack up.

At the coiling of the familiar tightness in his stomach, Pitch moves his hand faster.  With a final thrust, he comes with a soft grunt, quiet enough to not disturb Jack and to hear the low whine Jack releases as he comes as well.  Pitch catches Jack’s come in his hand so it won’t leave a trace on his body.  He licks it from his fingers, savoring the taste.

After several moments, Pitch finally pulls out.  He watches his own shadowy come spill out from Jack and then dissolve into the rest of the darkness.  At least that’s what it seems to do.  Most beings with normal eyesight would perceive it as such, but Pitch’s vision improves with the shadows and the dark.  He can see the way it sinks into Jack’s skin, becomes a part of him, infects him.  That darkness in Jack . . . it makes him even more beautiful.


	5. Informant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, finally! I'm sorry this is so late. It took a lot longer than I foresaw, though that's also because it was interrupted by a vacation to go see Eli and the beginning of school. Speaking of going to visit Eli, we hashed out the details of the ending and I can't wait to write it!
> 
> One thing I do want to mention is that I originally got the inspiration for this story from an AMV I saw at Anime Boston this year. Anime Boston was the week before the first BlackIce Week and I had In the Dark mostly figured out at that point, so I was thinking about what would happen beyond that. Recently, I managed to find [the AMV](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBlXMUj2w7w&list=PL6x0RlwagTTQZOb1Q0t9AIgAeoi-rQX88) on YouTube, and thought it would be cool to share it with you guys! I also wrote a large portion of this chapter while listening to that song, the [Unlimited Gravity Remix](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1wjL4BqXlI) of [Sail](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gH2efAcmBQM) by AWOLNATION.

Jack wakes, still tired despite going to bed without he and Pitch’s usual nighttime activities.  He blames the sunlight streaming through the single window in his room for his early rising.

The east-facing outside walls are one of the only downsides to the apartment.  Jack keeps meaning to cover the windows with a heavy fabric or buy darkening blinds so that he can wake up beside Pitch and be around him during the day, but something has been holding him back.  Jack tells himself it is because he has been so busy lately, but it really is that voice in the back of his mind.  This is one of the few times he has listened to it and he is glad of that when he gets a text from Tooth, asking to meet up.  He doesn’t need Pitch questioning him about that.

Dressing quickly, Jack dons his usual hoodie before rushing down the flights of stairs and out the door.  Tooth asked to meet at a café down the road, out in the open.  Jack has a feeling the reasoning for that is less out of concern over the ghost that attacked them, and more about taking precaution against Pitch.  Jack supposes he can’t blame her and he isn’t about to force her to interact with Pitch, yet he can’t help but think that Pitch should be there for their discussion.  While Tooth has done some research, Pitch has more actual experience dealing with spirits; he can help them.

As Jack approaches the café, he sees Tooth sitting at one of the tables outside.  Even from a distance, she doesn’t look too well.  Her hair is pulled into a messily ponytail and she’s still wearing yesterday’s rumpled clothing.  There are dark bags under her eyes and pen marks on her fingers, which she rubs at nervously.

“Did you sleep at _all_?” Jack asks with concern as he sits down across from her.

“No, I stayed up getting all this together,” Tooth says, smiling wanly and gesturing to the papers on the table.  “But it was worth it because I found out what kind of ghost that was,” she adds, perking up slightly.

“Really?  That’s great!”  Jack didn’t expect her to procure a definite answer so quickly, so it’s a relief to hear that they may be rid of this thing sooner than he anticipated.

“Here, look at this,” Tooth says.  She pushes a piece of paper toward Jack, pointing to a line near the top of the page.  “I looked up malevolent spirits and found this bit about a type of ghost that doesn’t cast a shadow, which I noticed is the case for our little friend.”

She continues handing him papers as she talks and Jack scans the information as quickly as he can.  “I had a suspicion it was this particular type, but I just wanted to make sure.  It’s called a bhut, the ghost of someone – always male – who died violently.  His spirit is restless and vindictive, so he will often go after those who he believes to be responsible for his death.”

“The vindictive ghost of male who died violently,” Jack sums up, glancing up from the pages in his hands.

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”  Tooth gives him a knowing look.

“The gunman,” Jack realizes, his eyes going wide.  He doesn’t know why it comes as a surprise.  It was too much to hope that the incident would pass by as easily as it seemed to.

“Exactly.  And if you look at _this_ part, bhuts don’t touch the ground and the higher off it the stronger they are.  He didn’t attack or reveal himself sooner because everywhere but your apartment was too close to the ground.  That’s also why lying on the floor stopped him.  Us being together also probably caused the vindictive feelings to grow, contributing to his power and giving him the drive to attack.”

“So, what can we do to get rid of him?  I just want to finally be done with all of this.”

“Me, too.  There are a couple ways to get rid of a ghost,” Tooth says, indicating a page with some illustrations, depicting what must be different methods of exorcism.  In one, an inscription drawn on the floor connects several lit candles and a strange blur seems to be trapped in the middle.  It’s the most passive one; the others are of more fully formed ghosts clearly in pain, trying to escape.  “I think it would be easiest to burn the bones of the gunman, though.”

“How would that be easy?  It seems like that would be quite the process.  You know, finding the grave, _digging up_ the bones, not to mention avoiding getting caught?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s definitely the most effective.  We could trap him like in this picture,” Tooth says, tapping the picture Jack was looking at, “but there’s always a chance that he could escape.  Banishing him would just send him to another place, putting others at risk.”

“‘Six feet under’ isn’t just an expression, Tooth.”  Jack raises his eye brows at her, only half-joking.

Tooth simply waves away his concerns with a small laugh.  “I’ve done this before, with my mom.  We’ll be fine!  We just have to go at night, which kind of concerns me because of . . . you know . . .”  Tooth sobers at bringing up this subject.

“Because of Pitch?” Jack prompts.  “You don’t have to worry about him.  I talked to him about that and made sure he won’t attack you again.  And he’s definitely on our side with getting rid of this ghost, especially if it’s the gunman.”

“I’m just concerned, Jack.  His behavior around you isn’t . . . healthy.  I had suspicions that the gunman’s death was related to something supernatural, but couldn’t investigate with the store blocked off as a crime scene.  Now that it’s been confirmed that it _was_ I can’t stop thinking about it.  Yes, I know you got shot in the arm and it was a dangerous situation in general, but did the gunman really deserve what happened to him?”

Jack isn’t sure how to answer Tooth’s question, but he does feel the need to defend Pitch.  “If Pitch hadn’t intervened, the gunman would have done a lot worse.  Maybe he overacted a bit, but –”

“That caused this whole mess!  If Pitch hadn’t done that, the gunman most likely wouldn’t have died a violent enough death to become a bhut.  Look, Jack, I recognize that his actions did save us, but you _must_ see why I am concerned.”

The voice in his head shouts that it’s obvious, that she has every right to be, but Jack doesn’t want to admit that he understands.

“So that’s why I also put this together,” Tooth says softly as she pulls a manila folder out from under the loose papers.  “The research on the bhut didn’t really take long.  _This_ is what kept me up all night.  I believe I’ve figured out what kind of spirit Pitch is.”

Feeling like he isn’t in control of his own body, Jack reached out an arm to take the folder from Tooth’s hands.  Despite spending so much time with Pitch, Jack really doesn’t know all that much about him and his powers.  He can’t help but be curious.

“Please, just . . . read it?  Okay?”  Tooth’s voice is gentle, pleading.  “You’re probably not going to like a lot of it, but I think you’ll take it much better hearing it straight from the source than listening to me.”

Jack just nods.  It’s all he can manage.

“All right, I’ll leave you to read that then.  I need to go find out where the gunman is buried.  Last night, I realized that we never even bothered to find out his name.”  Tooth gives a small, humorless laugh as she gathers her papers and stands up from the table.  “So, I’ll just do that and let you know where the grave is.  We can do it tonight.  And . . . Jack?  I’m always here if you need to talk.”

Jack swallows, extremely conflicted.  He really does appreciate that Tooth cares for him so much, but there’s no need for her worry.  “Thank you, Tooth.  Really, for everything.”

“Of course, Jack.  You’re my best friend.  Anything for you.  I’ll see you later.”

Jack watches her walk away with a lump in his throat.  Once she’s out of sight, he switches his gaze to the folder gripped in his shaking hands.  He briefly contemplates throwing it out and just forgetting about everything, but he can’t do that to Tooth, not after she put so much effort into something she thinks will help him.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the folder.

From scanning the first paper, Jack gleans that Pitch is a type of dark spirit, part of a certain class known as “boogeymen,” which thrive in the shadows and prey on fear.  It truly is informative and, eventually, Jack stops simply skimming to read the article in its entirety.

_When they are weak, boogeymen are the shadows, barely a sentient being.  They mindlessly feed off the fear held by all of humanity of the darkness that they embody.  Since children are more vulnerable to this specific fear, boogeymen will often take up residence in the bedrooms of young children.  With this steady supply of fear, a boogeyman will become more powerful and also develop an attachment of sorts to the child in question._

_This attachment persists as the child grows older, one of the consequences of which is an equally persistent fear of the dark in the child.  The continuation of this fear feeds the boogeyman, causing them to grow even stronger.  As the boogeyman gains more consciousness and sentience, they become aware that it is the attachment with the child making them so and they seek to strengthen it._

So far, things are lining up with Jack’s experience and he thinks that it’s not as bad as Tooth made it out to be.  “Attachment” has a pretty positive connotation.  Yes, Pitch is described as a “dark” spirit, but dark doesn’t necessarily mean evil.

The next section details the many different ways the boogeyman could go about strengthening the attachment, ranging from a full out haunting – which definitely suggests a more negative result – to a method that sounds a lot more familiar.

_At this point, the boogeyman is able to temporarily solidify sections of shadow in mimicry of human form to interact with their surroundings, including the child.  Initially, the touches will be fleeting – a hint of a hand grasping at an ankle while climbing into bed or the brush of fingers against a hand hanging over the edge of the mattress – but, as the child gets older, they may turn more intense and not-so-innocent.  This is based on the condition that the child gives permission.  As the child may not be aware of the boogeyman’s presence, this is usually done through trickery and the twisting of words.  Physical interaction on this level is desirable, as it brings the previously one-way attachment to a full-fledged bond._

Jack immediately dives into the next paragraph, seeing that it talks about how that touching is usually sexual in nature, but he pauses when it begins to discuss consent.  Unsure if he wants to continue, Jack puts the papers down for a moment.  He takes a deep breath.  The voice in the back of his mind is by no means silent.  It coaxes him to continue, to read the truth for himself, since he isn’t inclined to listen to it or Tooth.  Despite his inner conflict, his curiosity eventually wins out.

_Depending on the age of the child at the time of this invitation, the escalations of the interactions will vary.  If the child is an adolescent at that time, they grow to become sexual in nature._

_If that is the case, no such consent is needed for the boogeyman to continue the interactions after the initial invitation.  Many boogeymen chose to take complete advantage of that, as these forced sexual advances are a quick and easy method to gain strength.  The more patient boogeymen opt for the alternative, which takes longer to reach a similar level of strength, but will greatly surpass it with time.  In this option, a semblance of consent is gained, though it is through coercion and attempts to convince the adolescent that they enjoy it.  This is the preferred method, since it forms more than just a bond, but a two-way, mutual relationship._

_However it is not a truly mutual relationship.  The “consent” is more often than not coerced out of the adolescent, though this seems to be of little concern to the boogeyman, as they obviously have a different understanding of consent.  This method is usually considered more dangerous than the first described, as the adolescent becomes deluded into thinking –_

Jack practically throws the paper away from him.  What he read was interesting at first, but now it’s just plain wrong.  He wasn’t coerced into being with Pitch; he _chose_ it.  The voice in his head says otherwise and urges him to remember, but, again, Jack ignores it.

Feeling he has to prove something to the voice, Jack gathers the papers before violently pushing his chair back from the table and storming away from the café.  The closer he gets to his apartment, the faster he walks, until he’s running through the lobby and sprinting up the stairs.

As soon as he opens his door he calls, “Pitch!  Pitch, where are you!”  He tears through the apartment, frantically pulling down the blinds to darken the room as much as he is able.

“What!?  Jack, calm down.  What is it?”  Pitch is there, grabbing his arm, bringing him to a stop.  Jack throws himself at him and Pitch’s arms immediately encircle him to draw him closer.

“I need you,” Jack whispers without hesitation.

Pitch freezes in the act of petting his hair and rubbing his back.  “Do you now?” he purrs, sounding amazed and eager.

“ _Yes_.”  The amount of desperation he puts into that single word frightens Jack.  He’s never vocally stated his _need_ for Pitch, never been the one to _start_ anything.

A smile, full of teeth and edged with triumph, stretches across Pitch’s face.  He tightens his grip on Jack as he steps into the shadows and the darkness surrounds them, the same heavy darkness that suffocated Jack in the middle of the night as he huddled under his blankets in fear.  It sets Jack’s heart pounding and mind racing, but then the world tilts and Jack is on his back on the bed with everything else fading into background noise.

He reaches up, needing Pitch on top of him, but Pitch is already there, resting his weight on Jack as he settles between his legs.

“I need you,” Jack repeats, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Pitch doesn’t say anything in response, merely gazes down at Jack with a possessive gleam in his eyes, that same dangerous smile fixed on his face.  Jack shivers, overwhelmed, and he gives himself over to it all when Pitch leans down to kiss him.

The kisses move away from his mouth, trailing downward, and Jack tilts his head back to give Pitch full access to his neck.  He clutches at Pitch’s back as teeth sink into his skin.  The mark it is sure to leave will be half covered by his collar, but still visible.  Caught up in the moment, Jack can’t bring himself to care.

Hands tightly gripping his hips are the only warning he gets before he’s roughly turned over.  His lower half is jerked upward, bringing him to his knees while keeping his chest pressed to the mattress.  Pitch grinds against him from behind and Jack can feel how hard he is even through the layers of both of their clothing.

“Is this what you need, Jack?”

Jack can’t respond for several moments, attempting to breathe and collect his thoughts before he can pant out, “More.”

“Oh, I’m only getting started.”  That’s a dangerous promise and Jack whines, biting his lip.  Pitch pulls Jack’s pants and boxers down to his knees, trapping his legs in their spread position.  “If you need this so much, then you must be willing to help.  Hold yourself open for me.”

Jack swallows dryly and whines.  His face pushes into the sheets as he moves his arms behind him to grip his ass cheeks and pull them apart.  He feels so incredibly exposed, especially as Pitch doesn’t touch him right away, just looking instead.  Even so, Jack holds the position because he knows that’s what Pitch wants.

He groans when Pitch wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him firmly, while the fingertips on the other hand brush against his entrance with light, teasing touches.  Normally, he would allow this to continue until Pitch saw fit to take it further, but not this time.

“I said I wanted _more_ ,” he says, lifting his head to look over his shoulder at Pitch, who looks affronted at being told what to do.  That’s understandable, as it’s not only very unlike how Jack normally behaves, but the vulnerable position he’s currently in is not well suited for making demands.  Pitch recovers quickly, a lightning-fast hand darting up to fist in Jack’s hair and shove his head back down.  Jack gasps, not expecting such an action in retaliation.  The grip doesn’t relent as Pitch leans forward to bring his mouth level with Jack’s ear.  As he does, he sinks a finger into Jack.

“One would think that, by now, you would know _I_ am the one in charge.  Perhaps I need to reassert myself.”

With Pitch’s finger inside him giving him exactly what he wants, Jack can barely comprehend what Pitch says, though what he does catch turns him on even more.  He squirms, attempting to move his head so he can see Pitch, but he finds he cannot move at all.  When he attempts to move his mouth to question Pitch, no sound comes out.

“That’s much better.”

Jack’s panic almost overtakes him, as it’s all too similar to a night so long ago, but Pitch’s hand unclenching from his hair and moving back to his cock brings him away from those thoughts.  Both hands begin to move, matching rhythms, and Jack whines silently.

The addition of a second finger makes Jack painfully aware that he is stuck in this very exposed position until Pitch sees fit to release him, which he doesn’t seem willing to do at the moment.  He does seem eager to move things along, however, as Jack’s barely prepared when Pitch removes his fingers and lines himself up.

It’s going to hurt, but that will only burn this moment into Jack’s memory, making it a permanent reminder of why he’s with Pitch and why he loves this so much.

Pitch pushes in.  Jack is grateful he can’t actually scream because his mental screams seem loud enough to be audible outside his mind.  He can do nothing to alleviate the pain, except breathe through it, but that does little with this level of intensity.  Pitch’s hand on his cock has stilled, so Jack doesn’t even have that as a distraction.

Once Pitch’s hips are pressed against Jack’s hands, Pitch bends over him and a hot breath ghosts over his ear.  “Is this what you need, _Jack_?”

Jack has no way to respond, but it isn’t necessary.  Pitch knows exactly what he needs and willingly gives it.

That is the only pause given before Pitch starts moving.  He keeps his face beside Jack’s ear, filling Jack’s head with harsh panting.  When Pitch resumes stroking his cock, the pain and pleasure balance out and Jack is able to bear it.

The material of the sheets scratches against Jack’s cheek as he is rocked slightly by the force of Pitch’s thrusts.  Pitch’s hand twists over the head of Jack’s cock at the same time one thrust hits that spot inside him.  Jack can only gasp sharply and squeeze his eyes shut.  He wants to moan, to vocalize his need for Pitch, to demonstrate the level of his desire, and not being able to only increases his want – his want to moan, his want of Pitch, his want of _this_.  He wants to drown in it all, wants to drown out the voice that, even now, incessantly whispers doubts in the back of his mind, forcing him to twist them into declarations of desire.

 _No_!  Not forced, never forced.  He wasn’t and isn’t forced to do _anything_.  He wants this, he chose this, he likes this, he doesn’t need to convince himself of any of that, _so why is he trying so hard?_

With a soundless cry, Jack comes unexpectedly, only distantly aware of Pitch continuing to stroke him and move inside him through his orgasm.  After a few uneven thrusts, Pitch comes as well, though Jack barely registers it.  He only finds himself when Pitch pulls out of him and Jack groans, realizing he’s no longer silenced.  He can also move and he slowly slides down so he’s prostrate on the mattress.  Pitch lowers himself so he’s lying on top of him and Jack allows the weight and warmth to crush him.  He curls up as much as he is able and drifts off to sleep before the voice can begin its assault.


	6. Interloper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooops this took a long time. But, look, it's here! Big thanks to Zin for reading this over!

The ringing of his cell phone jerks Jack awake.  He’s not sure what time it is, but it’s dark and Pitch is still on top of him.  Jack wriggles around, attempting to reach the pocket of his hoodie, where his phone is located.  Pitch shifts so Jack has room to roll onto his side and move his arm more easily.

The light of the screen is nearly blinding in the total darkness.  The digital clock reads just before one in the morning and the caller ID alerts him that Tooth is calling.  She must have discovered where the grave is located.

“Hey,” Jack says as he answers.

“Okay, so I’m right across the street from the cemetery where the gunman is buried,” Tooth launches right into describing the situation, foregoing any kind of greeting.  “It’s the one on the eastern edge of town, near the hospital.  I have the supplies and know where the grave is, so all I need is you!”

At the mention of the gunman, Jack feels Pitch tense above him.  The volume is up much louder than he realized.  While it isn’t exactly a problem that Pitch knows, Jack wishes he had the chance to directly deliver this piece of information to Pitch.  Now he has to deal with Pitch demanding to know why he wasn’t informed as soon as possible.

Sighing, Jack responds to Tooth.  “I can be there in about fifteen minutes.  I just need to throw on some different clothes.”

“Sounds good.  I’ll be waiting under a street light.”

“See you soon.”

“Bye.”

As soon as Jack hits the end call button and closes his phone, Pitch pushes him onto his back, sealing his mouth over the bite mark he left earlier.  Jack gasps and immediately grabs either side of Pitch’s head.  He wants to pull Pitch off, but his arms go limp as Pitch starts sucking and nipping.

Tooth is waiting for him and she probably won’t appreciate seeing any marks left by Pitch on his body.  Jack tries to vocalize his thoughts, but his words get caught in his throat with a familiar sensation.  Panic causes strength to flood into his arms and he wrenches Pitch’s head away from his neck.  Though Pitch isn’t using his powers to incapacitate him physically, Jack is still trapped under his body, leaving him only able to glare.

“Now that I have your attention . . .” Pitch begins.  He places his hand on Jack’s cheek to hold his face still before he continues.  “What was that about the gunman?”

Jack grits his teeth.  He can speak now, but he hesitates and gathers his thoughts before he begins.  “First of all, _stop_ doing that.  If you want to ask me a question just fucking say so.”  Pitch narrows his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t react.  It’s not an acknowledgment of his demand, but Jack accepts it.  “Tooth told me what she found out about the ghost that attacked us the other night.  Apparently, it’s a kind that only forms under certain circumstances and the gunman’s death happened to meet those circumstances.  There are a lot of more specific details surrounding it, but they’re too complicated for me to give a second-hand explanation.”

“I see.  And what exactly are you planning on doing.”

“Getting rid of the ghost.  Tooth said that burning the gunman’s bones is the best way, so we’re going to dig up his body tonight.”

“I’ll admit she is correct in that being the best way to ensure the ghost doesn’t make a reappearance,” Pitch says, though he looks none too pleased, “but digging up the body is rather crude and time consuming.”

“How else do you suggest we get to his bones?”

“I could simply transport his body through the shadows, much like I did with _you_ earlier.”  Pitch’s voice drops off to a whisper and his hand tightens on Jack’s face.  His head dips down, going in for another kiss, and Jack renews his grip on Pitch’s head to push him back again.  He suddenly feels very suffocated and imprisoned under Pitch and it’s hard to breathe.  Despite his attempts to block them out, the words from the papers Tooth gave him keep swimming to the forefront of his mind.

“Get off me.  Let me up,” he demands.  Though his voice wavers, it is very much a demand and Pitch takes it as one.  He immediately backs off and Jack lurches off the bed to pace to the other side of the room.  Very aware of his bare lower half, Jack hurriedly searches for a pair of dark pants.  He’s hindered by the pain radiating from that same location, but that only makes him more frantic.

“Jack . . .”  Pitch touches his shoulder as he’s stepping into his dark gray jeans and Jack flinches back, nearly falling over.

“Are you okay?” Pitch asks, sounding inquisitive and slightly suspicious.

“I’m fine,” Jack snaps back.

“No, you’re not,” Pitch says in a hard tone.  “This wouldn’t be connected to your behavior last night by any chance, would it?”

Jack doesn’t offer an answer, though he can feel Pitch’s eyes on him, watching his every move, even as he pulls on a pair of sneakers and knots the laces.  He removes his hoodie, the crinkling of papers in the pocket a harsh reminder of what he learned—and did—last night.  None of that helps the general feeling of unease that is steadily creeping over him.

When Pitch grasps his chin and turns his head to look at him, Jack forces himself not to flinch again, especially at seeing the highly irritated look on Pitch’s face.  “You’re not going to answer and that only makes me more concerned.  If you think I’m going to allow you to leave without–”

“You don’t _let_ me do anything!” Jack snaps.  He’s prepared to yell at Pitch, to finally lay into him about all the things that have been bothering him recently, but a thump from the other room catches his attention.  Through his open door, Jack can clearly see him, the gunman.  He’s looking right at Jack and, with an angry shriek, speeds toward him.

Jack gasps, heart pounding, and throws himself to the floor, hoping Tooth was right about this part at least.  Sure enough, the gunman stops and floats aimlessly around the living room, looking around for Jack.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Pitch step forward and he glances up.  Pitch’s features are twisted in anger, most likely at being snuck up on and ignored once again, and Jack grabs his ankle to prevent him from going to confront the gunman.  The look Pitch turns to give him scares Jack more than the ghost.

Swallowing his fear, Jack says, “Attacking him isn’t going to do any good.  We’re going to get rid of him soon anyway and the faster we can leave to meet up—”

Pitch jerks his leg out of Jack’s grip with a growl.  “ _Yes_ , I know, but that doesn’t make me want to attack him any less.”  With one last glance at the gunman, Pitch turns away.  “Finish getting dressed and I’ll transport us out of here.”

Jack nods silently and crawls to a pile of clothing.  Digging through it, he finds a black hoodie and tugs it on as best he can while still lying on the floor.

“Ready?” Pitch asks.  Jack simply nods again.  Pitch leans down and wraps a hand around Jack’s upper arm and the next thing he knows they’re in the alley formed by his apartment building and the bar next door.  He stumbles, disorientated by his sudden switch to standing, Pitch’s hold the only thing keeping him up.  Jack wills himself to relax, but he panics again when Pitch pushes him against the wall.

“I know you are keeping things from me,” Pitch says, looming over Jack.  “You are discomforted and that distresses me.  I only want to see that end, so I _will_ find out what those things are and take the proper steps toward dealing with them.  If you continue to resist me then so be it, but I assure you that I only have your best intentions in mind.”

Jack clenches his hands into fists, his knuckles scraping against the rough brick.  He wants to believe Pitch, he really does, but he can’t trust him any longer.  It wounds him to feel like that, and he wishes there was something he could do to correct it, but that’s up to Pitch.

He refuses to let himself shrink down and gets ready to tell Pitch exactly that, but there’s a tug inside him, something compelling him to trust Pitch this time, just this once more, give him one more chance.  After all, it’s the least he can do in return for what Pitch has done for him.

It’s not the voice.  It feels very different and, besides, he can hear the voice in the distant background, far, far away and as if it is underwater, wondering what exactly Pitch has done for him and why Jack needs to repay him for it.  This new force is much stronger, resonating through his entire body, thrumming in his veins.  At even just the consideration of listening to it, a calm sweeps over Jack and the tugging intensifies.  Letting Pitch handle things sounds so nice and it would be so much less effort on his part . . .

“I’m sorry,” Jack finds himself saying.  “I know you care about me and only want what’s best for me.  Fighting will only put distance between us and I really don’t want that.”

It’s not exactly what he intended, but it just sounds so right and anything that could make Pitch’s features soften like that couldn’t be wrong.

“Oh, Jack, I knew you would see reason,” Pitch praises as he threads his fingers through Jack’s hair.  Jack closes his eyes and leans into the touch.  “We can discuss this later, but, for now, let us go confront those nuisances that currently disrupt us.”

Pitch has leaned in close and Jack can feel his hot breath ghosting over his face.  He eagerly reciprocates the anticipated kiss and feels cold when Pitch pulls away much too soon.

On the way to the cemetery, Jack sticks as close to the shadows as he can, avoiding street lamps and even the dimly lit fronts of still-open bars.  This way, Pitch is able to keep constant contact—a hand resting on his shoulder, fingers wrapped around his wrist, knuckles brushing against his cheek—and Jack can’t bear to be without it.  It takes much longer with all the detours, but it’s worth it.

He’s about to veer off his path to skirt the street lamp up ahead when he notices there’s a figure standing beneath it.

“Jack?”

Jack was so caught up in it all that he almost missed Tooth.  “Yeah, it’s me.”

“I almost didn’t see you, with all the dark colors,” Tooth says as she walks toward him.  She’s also dressed in black clothing, though it seems much more thought out and appropriate than what Jack threw on.  “Here’s your shovel!”

Jack takes the offered shovel, but remembers that Pitch had a different solution.  “Actually, we won’t be needing these.  Pitch said he can help us out with retrieving the body.”

“O-oh.  He’s here?”

“I am _everywhere_.”  Pitch’s voice does indeed come from everywhere, echoing around them on the empty street.  Standing just outside the circle of light thrown by the street lamp, Jack can practically feel the shadows pressing against him as they writhe about.  Tooth, despite standing safely in the light, takes a few steps back from the edge of darkness.

“Pitch, stop being so overdramatic,” Jack sighs.  He may be feeling some extreme good will toward Pitch at the moment, but he still isn’t going to put up with that.

“But you know that is true, Jack.  You of all people know that.”

Jack swallows.  He really doesn’t want to broach this topic in front of Tooth.  “Just tell her what you told me.”

“Very well, though the fact that I am everywhere is connected to this.  I can become the shadows, and travel through them.  Recently, my power has expanded and I can also turn things I touch in shadows and then transport them much in the same manner as myself.  There’s no need to go messing around in the dirt when I can easily retrieve the gunman’s body directly from the grave.”

Tooth just nods, though she looks conflicted about accepting Pitch’s help.  “I suppose that could work,” she says slowly.  “We will still have to turn the earth on the top, so we’re setting a fire in the dirt instead of the grass, where there’s more of a chance the fire will spread.”

“That’s fine.  At least this way it won’t take as long,” Jack says, trying to get Tooth to warm up to Pitch a bit.

“I suppose.”  Tooth still looks a bit uneasy.  She hesitantly steps out of the light and stands close to Jack.  “Let’s just go, then.”

As they make their way into the cemetery, Tooth sticks right next to Jack.  It’s under the pretense of leading the way and sharing the flashlight, but it’s also because she’s wary of Pitch.  Jack really can’t blame her, considering Pitch attacked her the only time they met, but he wishes she would just trust his judgment and extend some of that trust to Pitch.

The gunman’s grave is in the newer section of the cemetery, at the back.  The ground there is pockmarked with bare stretches of dirt that mark the plots of the recently deceased.  Jack tries to avoid stepping where a body might be buried.

Tooth stops in front of a simple looking grave, the grass short and still growing sparsely in clumps.  She doesn’t even bother to shine the light onto the headstone to read the name and Jack is grateful.  He doesn’t want to know what the gunman’s name was.

“You can start digging around here,” Tooth says in a hushed voice, dragging the edge of her shovel to gouge a line into the dirt.  “Only a couple inches down.  It just needs to be a slight depression in the earth.”

“Okay.”  Jack gets to work on digging.  He doesn’t really mind the physical labor, but he does mind the way Pitch hovers behind him like an over protective parent.  It grates on Jack’s nerves for a couple of minutes before he says, “I’m perfectly capable of digging a hole by myself.”

The flashlight doesn’t cast much light and Pitch is making an effort to stay in the darkness.  Jack can’t see Pitch that well, but he can clearly picture the face he’s making.  It’s a mix of hurt and anger that never bodes well, so Jack continues talking in an effort to appease him.

“I mean, just relax.  Okay?  The gunman can’t bother me while I’m on the ground like this and the most danger I’ll be in is when we start the fire.  I’m not going to get hurt doing this.”

Pitch just growls in response, but he turns away and paces the perimeter of the grave.  At least he’s not standing over Jack like he wants to rip the shovel out of his hands and start digging himself.  Jack is more than capable of doing this.  Besides, he feels like he has to contribute something to this effort to banish the gunman.  He wasn’t much help on _that_ night and he was similarly useless the times the ghost of the gunman attacked.  In fact, everything that went wrong on all those occurrences was his fault, so he needs make up for that.

As they dig, Jack realizes he underestimated how long this would take.  He’s not sure if doing repetitive actions makes things stretch two, three times longer than they actually take or if it’s really just a time consuming task.  It doesn’t seem like he’s made that much of a dent, barely an inch or so deep in two square feet.  Pausing briefly to wipe the sweat off his forehead, Jack is somewhat glad to see that Tooth has made a similar amount of progress.  At least he’s not just slow.

When he and Tooth meet in the middle, Jack takes out his phone to check the time: 3:14 AM.  He’s incredibly grateful Pitch is there.  Without him they probably wouldn’t have completed the job in time.

Tooth glances over his shoulder to see the time and gasps softly.

“I never thought it would take us this long,” she whispers.  “I guess I’m too used to my mother making quick work of this part.  We probably should have started sooner.”

“But we don’t have to worry about that.  We’ve got Pitch.”

“. . . yeah,” Tooth says reluctantly, still not completely comfortable.

A hand falls on Jack’s shoulder and he jumps, startled, but it’s only Pitch.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, before melting into the shadows and disappearing down into the ground.  Tooth immediately turns to him.

“Did you read those papers?” she says in a rush, trying to get it out before Pitch comes back.

“Um, yeah, but not all of them.  They didn’t really tell me anything new and I got a bit, ah, distracted.”

Tooth’s eyes widen minutely and she leans toward him, clasping one of his hands between both of hers.  “Just finish reading them, please?  I really need you to do that for me.”

“Of course, if it means that much to you.”  Jack is a bit shocked at Tooth’s desperation, but it must be something serious if she’s acting like that.  He wonders what it could possibly be that she’s this worked up about it.

The shifting of the shadows snaps him back to attention.  The gunman’s body is in the dirt at their feet, with a half-decomposed face staring blankly up at him.  A mix of horror and disgust jolts through Jack and he stumbles back, right into Pitch, who wraps an arm around him and pulls him in close.

“I should have warned you,” Pitch says.  Jack nods as he leans back and turns his head to rest his temple against Pitch’s chest.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that Tooth has not moved other than to bring her sleeve up to cover her mouth and nose, blocking out the smell from the body.  She glances at them, but quickly looks away.  Jack goes to step away and ask her what’s wrong, but Pitch tightens his arm and makes a small sound of discontent.  Jack stops moving.

“I’m going to prepare the body so we can burn it,” Tooth says distantly as she swings off the backpack Jack just noticed she was wearing.  “There are a couple of specific steps so you can just, ah, sit back and relax.”

Jack still wants to go talk to her, but it’s not worth squirming away from, and thus angering, Pitch.  He settles for just watching Tooth as she takes supplies out of her bag: a jar of salt, a candle, and a book of matches.  She uses one of the matches to light the candle, its glow illuminating the area and sending shadows dancing across the body, twisting grotesquely.  Jack averts his gaze from that sight and focuses on Tooth, who is sprinkling salt on and around the body.

“To purify it,” she explains when she catches him watching.  Not wanting to distract her, Jack resists asking why.  Once she’s done, Tooth turns to him.  “Okay, I need your help now.”

This time Pitch lets Jack go and Jack can’t help but be a bit relieved as he steps into the light thrown off by the candle, where Pitch can’t follow.

“It’s not hard,” Tooth says, handing him a couple matches.  “Just light the match and then toss it onto the body.  We have to use several matches because it’s fresher than the ones that we usually burn, so it’s not as dried out.  It’ll probably take a bit longer to burn, too.”

“We have plenty of time, though.  Right?”

“I suppose.  Let’s just get this over with.”  Tooth draws the match in her hand against the course strip before handing the book to Jack, who strikes one of his matches as well.  They hold their arms out over the body, Jack at the head and Tooth near the legs and drop the matches at the same time.

The effect is instantaneous.  The fire catches and spreads to the rest of the body, lighting up the area so much that Jack can see three graves away.  Behind him, Jack hears Pitch hiss at the brightness and several of the darker shadows retreat.  Tooth tells him to light another match and he does, this time dropping it closer to the middle of the body.  Tooth’s second match lands near the feet and the blaze intensifies, soon becoming too hot to stand near.  Tooth picks up the candle and blows it out as they step back just far enough so they won’t end up with singed eyelashes.

Jack doesn’t know how long they spend watching the fire.  It’s mesmerizing.  He can feel his worries and fears over the gunman and his ghost finally disappearing.  He didn’t even feel this free after the incident at the convenience store, when he knew the gunman was dead.

With a sigh, months’ worth of tension leaves his body.  He turns to Tooth with a bright smile, which she readily returns.  This time, the gunman is gone for sure.  It’s finally over.  They can relax.

“Jack.”

Jack whips around.  He almost forgot Pitch was there.

“It’s almost sunrise.  I won’t be able to stay much longer.”

“Oh, okay,” Jack says as he walks into the shrinking darkness, reaching out for Pitch.  Hands readily grasp his own and guide him deeper into the shadows.

“When you get back to the apartment, make it dark as possible,” Pitch says softly.  “I want to be able to spend time with you without the threat of a ghost or . . . other interruption.”

“I’ll try to get back as soon as possible.”  Jack smiles and leans up to kiss Pitch, who meets him halfway.  For the moment, he doesn’t care that Tooth might be able to see them or what she thinks of it.  He deserves to have these little tastes even while she’s around.

Pitch finally lets him go and sinks into what is left of the shadows.  As soon as he’s gone, Jack feels off balance.  It’s not due to the fact that Pitch isn’t there; he’s perfectly capable of existing and functioning on his own.  It’s more of something to do with his actions earlier.  Why did he apologize to Pitch so easily in the alleyway?  Why did he apologize at all?  He didn’t do anything wrong.

Jack stares into the dying embers of the fire for a few more minutes before shaking those thoughts from his head.  They are too complicated to process at the moment and, besides, it’s all in the past and Pitch handled it.  Now, it’s time to celebrate!

“You okay?” Tooth asks as she walks up to him.

“I’m great!” Jack says, smiling widely.  “We just got rid of the gunman.  Of course, I’m great!”

Tooth’s worried expression melts away and she returns the smile.  “That’s good!”

“I haven’t felt this good in a long time, actually.  I know we thought the gunman was gone the first time, but . . . I dunno.  This feels different.”

“I know what you mean.  It feels more permanent.”

“Exactly.  So let’s do something to celebrate.  Let’s go out to breakfast!”

“Is anywhere open at . . .”  Tooth trails off as she checks her phone for the time.  “Nearly four in the morning?”

“I’m sure a diner is open somewhere.  Let’s just go!”  Jack links his arm with Tooth.  She laughs and allows him to drag her off.  They wander around the slowly brightening town, looking for an open restaurant.  The last time they hung out like this things didn’t end well, so this is really the first time in several weeks that they’ve just goofed around together.  It’s the perfect complement to the wave of euphoria they’re both riding on.

When they finally find a small place that’s just opening their doors, they are on the other side of town than Jack’s apartment.  As they order and eat, they talk about unimportant things, mundane details of their lives, things they never asked about the other before.  Tooth can’t choose a single color as her favorite (he could have guessed that much by looking at her clothing), she’s vegetarian (how had he not noticed with the number of times they ordered food together?), and she has a secret stash of ghost hunting supplies in a trunk under her bed (okay, there was no way he could have known that).  She tells him she’s not surprised his favorite color is blue.  Or that his white hair is a dye job.  He pouts when she teases his still dark eyebrows.

By the time they leave, Jack is in an even better mood than when they entered, which is pretty impressive considering at that point he was already happier than he’s been in a long time.

“I think I’m going to head back to bed,” Tooth says with a laugh that ends with a yawn.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Jack agrees, catching her yawn.

“Yeah, you should do that, but first . . . read those papers.”

Jack’s incredible mood comes crashing down.  He had forgotten all about that, all about his potential—no, _actual_ problems with Pitch.  Things will only be an illusion of happiness until he finally confronts Pitch, but Jack is scared of what he will read in those papers.

Tooth’s small, warm hand encloses his own and Jack glances over at her.  She’s smiling serenely.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like all of it, but I promise it will make things better, okay?  I’ll help make things better.  Tell you what, I’ll come by later on today and we can discuss those papers.  Sound good?”

“Yeah.  Sounds good.”  Tooth hugs him and Jack wonders why she’s treating him and this issue so delicately.  The papers can’t say anything too horrible.

They depart, Tooth with a rather sad smile on her face.  Jack ponders his situation as he heads back to his apartment.  He could always disregard the papers and allow things to continue on as they are.  He’ll tell Tooth that he read them and he’s fine with everything, so she doesn’t need to worry; however, it’s obvious Tooth expects him to _not_ be fine.  While he’s not quite sure what to make of that, he supposes he should read the papers.

His steps are slow and dragging, but he inevitably reaches his door.  Once inside, he leans against it for a bit, working up the courage and energy to retrieve the papers from the hoodie in his room.  When he finally looks up, he notices the still-closed blinds and remembers that Pitch asked to see him as soon as he got back.  He doesn’t even consider improvising darkening shades and instead immediately opens the blinds, letting in the early afternoon light.

With a heavy sigh, he goes to his room and picks his hoodie up off the floor.  Drawing the papers out, he smooths out the slight crinkles, wincing at how loud it seems in the dead silent apartment.  His room feels enclosed and disorganized, too much like his mind, so he goes back to the other room and spreads the papers out on the coffee table.

Sifting through them, he sorts out the ones he already read, finding the page he only read one paragraph on, the page that made him stop reading and go running straight to Pitch.  He rereads that last sentence.

_This method is usually considered more dangerous than the first described, as the adolescent . . ._

He has to stop for a moment.

_. . . the adolescent becomes . . . becomes . . ._

He can’t bring himself to read that next word because then he will admit, accept, that it’s true, that he is . . .

_. . . deluded._

Why would he have made such valiant efforts to convince himself that what the papers say is not true unless he _knows_ that it is and just doesn’t want to believe it?  He’s deluded, hopelessly so and has been for _months_.  Tooth is right, that voice in the back of his mind is right.  The voice is suspiciously mute and he wonders if that’s because it’s no longer just whispering the truth in the back of his mind—it _is_ his mind now.

He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until a sob breaks the silence.  He abandons the papers and curls up on the couch, letting himself cry as he stares blankly at the wall.  Tears stream down his cheeks and drip off his nose, though he doesn’t make any more sounds besides for the occasional hitch in his breath.  It leaves him insensate.

When he finally rouses himself, the light has shifted around the room.  It’s much later in the afternoon, but he still has daylight left.  He slowly pushes himself up.  Despite his grogginess, his mind is clearer than it has been in a long time.  Glancing at the papers, he wonders if he should even bother reading the rest of them.  Just this is enough to convince him that something needs to be done, but he has a feeling there’s something more, something beyond this that Tooth wants him to read.  Ignoring a strange pull that compels him not to, he slides down to the floor and kneels in front of the papers once again.  Though he’s frightened of the possibilities, he starts reading without hesitation.  It’s time to finish that sentence.

_This method is usually considered more dangerous than the first described, as the adolescent becomes deluded into thinking that they want this form of contact.  A lack of understanding of consent on the adolescent’s part may lead them to believe or otherwise convince themselves that they did give consent.  This situation will lead to the adolescent and boogeyman managing to quite happily coexist.  The two learn to rely on each other and there is no resistance to contact of any kind.  Despite the apparent health of these relationships, it is not advised that they be allowed to continue as there is still that underlying coercion at the roots._

The rest of the page contains an interview with a victim whose situation was similar to the one described above.  His throat aches at how familiar this all is.  Both the passage and the person’s experience describe his involvement with Pitch perfectly.  The victim’s response to being asked to give advice to “those who are enduring the same thing” washes a wave of relief over his stains of guilt.

 _“Just know that it’s not your fault, it’s_ not _your fault.  I thought for the longest time that I had_ let _it happen, but I was . . . I was different, somehow.  This thing, it-it_ does _something, it changes you, makes you think differently. 1  I don’t know what it is, but you’re suddenly okay with all of—with everything.  But trust me, that’s not you, that’s _not _what you really think.  I just wish someone had been there to tell me that, to help me realize it.”_

He is incredibly thankful he does have someone there to help him.  Without Tooth he would never have bothered to dig deeper.  Though he was content before, it was out of ignorance and now he can clearly see how tricked and trapped he was.  Eager to move on, he almost misses a footnote at the bottom of the page.

_ 1_ _See section D for more information._

Looking back up the page, he finds that the footnote belongs to what the victim said about thinking differently.  That’s certainly interesting and he searches for section D among the rest of the papers, which are scattered out of order from his rush to leave the café yesterday.

Snatches of other paragraphs occasionally catch his attention and he stops to read them.  There’s a bit about victims being unable to move or speak, which is connected with sleep paralysis, and a detailed explanation of the progression of a boogeyman’s powers.  He still finds it interesting and, besides, he should understand as much about Pitch as he can.

Finally, he reaches the last page, titled “Section D” in neat, bold print.  With a deep breath, he begins to read.

_Based on reports from numerous victims, it has been determined there is some other factor in play when it comes to making victims believe they have consented.  As already stated, most of a boogeyman’s power comes from the shadows and their ability to manipulate them.  Using those shadows, they influence their victim’s way of thinking.  It is a possession of sorts, with the boogeyman inserting shadows that are heavily controlled and influenced by themselves into the victim.  As those shadows are part of what makes up the physical body of the boogeyman, they can easily be put to this use._

He feels sick.  That explains the strange tug he felt that compelled him to apologize to Pitch earlier and all of the other times he let things go.  Now that he thinks about it, when did he start to think things were okay?  That time that Pitch gave him back the nightlight and he didn’t plug it in?  Even before that, just after the nightlight was taken and his thoughts naturally flowed in the direction of granting consent?  He’s sure that he’s been under the influence of these shadows for a while.  Clutching a shaking hand to his chest, he wonders how they’re affecting him right now.  They’re not stopping him from reading and, despite his trembling and trepidation, he continues.

 _There is only one known method that the shadows come to be in the victim’s body.  Most boogeymen take on the physical form of a_ male _body, complete with the anatomy and sexual functioning of such.  When the boogeyman ejaculates inside the victim, the semen, made up of the special shadow, seeps into and throughout the victim’s body._

He rests his elbows on the table and rakes his hands through his hair.  His eyes are wide with shock, but he can’t tear them away.

_It was formerly believed that this happened after the first full sexual encounter and only influenced the victim from that point on; however, reports from victims have indicated otherwise.  There are many documented cases of victim’s appearing to consent to the first sexual encounter—or what they think is the first sexual encounter._

An icy pit drops into his stomach.  What is that supposed to mean?

 _Before the injection of the shadows into the body, the victim is unwilling to allow contact, which makes the boogeyman unable to continue when they want consent.  That means the shadows are injected into the victim’s body_ before _the first sexual encounter.  As there is only one known method of doing that, the boogeyman had sex with the victim while they were unaware, most likely asleep._

With a strangled cry of horror, he pushes himself away from the table, away from the papers, away from the terrible truth he just read.  He’s not going to delude himself this time.  He knows this happened to him, things happened to him, while he was asleep, oh _god—_

“What are you reading, Jack?”


	7. Insane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter. Finally! I'm incredibly sorry this took so long. Work is piling up with the approach of the end of the semester and I wanted to put a lot of effort into this chapter to make it the best it could be.
> 
> A _huge_ thank you also goes out to everyone who left kudos or commented on this fic and In the Dark! This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've finished and the amount of feedback I've received has been wonderful and overwhelming. Thanks also goes out to [Kagayaku-Creations](http://kagayaku-creations.tumblr.com/), who drew some amazing fanart of chapter 4. It can be found on Tumblr [here](http://kagayaku-creations.tumblr.com/post/67044028421/fanart-for-charmed7293s-fic-series-in-the-dark) and also within chapter four. And, of course, I owe the world to my lovely, magnificent, talented beta, [Hikari199111](http://hikari199111.tumblr.com/). Eli is literally halfway around the world right now, but she still managed to be available to work really closely with me on this chapter. Thank you soooo much for putting up with me whining about this chapter (and all the other ones . . . and about missing you) and being a perfect beta _and_ human being.  <3
> 
> Just a reminder, the playlist can be found [here](http://8tracks.com/charmed7293/in-the-dark) and the alternate ending will be posted in a couple days, so keep an eye open for that.
> 
> I would very much appreciate feedback on this chapter and the fic series as a whole!

Jack can’t move.  He’s stuck.  His mind refuses to tell his body to get away.  It’s too caught up processing what just happened, connecting what he read with the voice that just spoke to him.  Pitch, it was _Pitch_ who did all those things to him, who _violated_ him, who made Jack _love_ him.  Now it’s all so wrong. The twisted affection he still holds for Pitch mixes with the revulsion he feels toward not only Pitch, but _himself_.  Jack begged for it last night, _begged_ for Pitch to take him as he exposed himself—

“Jack?”

Pitch’s voice is gentle and questioning, but Jack only registers that it belongs to Pitch and the need he has to put as much distance between Pitch and himself as possible.  He violently throws himself away from the direction of the voice, his mind gathering itself to broadcast a single command for his body to follow: _get away_.

When Pitch takes a step forward, Jack scrambles backward until he hits the wall.  Pressing himself against it, Jack pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms over his head, so his face is hidden in his knees.  His whimper catches in his throat, coming out as a cracked whine.

“Jack, what’s wrong?” Pitch asks, sounding extremely distressed.

Jack wants to tell Pitch to stay away, to rage and scream at him, but he can’t find his voice.  It’s very different from when Pitch silences him.  That’s like trying to speak in a dream, but the words come out as silence.  He knows what he wants to say, he just can’t.

This . . . this is fear, _terror_ , disrupting his thoughts and blocking his functioning.

“Does this have something to do with that hunter girl?” Pitch growls, his tone very quickly shifting from gentle concern to thunderous anger.

Jack whimpers and pulls his legs closer, but hands wrap around his upper arms and yank him to his feet, abruptly breaking his catatonia with a burst of adrenaline.  He finally makes a sound, a short, gasping sob of fear.  It’s thin and clipped and quiet enough for Pitch to talk over him like he always does.

“Well does it?” Pitch demands, his face right in front of Jack’s, twisted with fury, as he shakes Jack slightly.

Eyes wide with panic and fear, Jack strikes out, mostly just flailing in an attempt to shake Pitch off him.  He’s hyperventilating by the time Pitch seems to realize how badly this is affecting him.  Pitch releases him and Jack forces himself to remain standing, leaning heavily against the wall.

“I thought this might happen,” Pitch says as he turns away and walks back to the table.  “What did that girl do to you?”

“ _She_ didn’t do anything to me!” Jack finds the courage to say, emboldened by the adrenaline still rushing through his veins.  He looks to the side, to the light switch, just a little ways down the wall.  He can make it.  He sidesteps with shaky legs that are barely able to hold him and slides along the wall, but a rustle of paper catches his attention.  His head snaps back to Pitch to see him holding the papers and his quest for the light switch is forgotten.

There are several moments of silence as Pitch reads and comprehension slowly dawns on his face.

“You _would_ make a scene over something like this,” Pitch says, with a weary sigh.

“So it’s true?” Jack asks as his horror mounts, both at the possible confirmation and Pitch’s dismissal.

“Yes,” Pitch replies without hesitation.  “You humans were always so hung up on—”

“For how long?” Jack interrupts, clenching his hands and glaring at the ground, unable to bring himself to look at Pitch.

“Since I took the nightlight from you.”

Jack’s breath catches in his throat as it closes up.  His eyes stare blankly ahead, not really seeing anything.  The only thing he can feel is his fingernails digging into his palms.

That was . . . that was before he “consented” . . . before he started thinking things were okay.  Pitch did . . . did those _things_ to him . . . all those times he made Jack _let_ him do those things to him . . . made Jack believe he wanted it . . .

This is all _why_ he started thinking things were okay.

Reading from the papers is one thing, but hearing Pitch verbally confirm it with such nonchalance . . .

With a broken whimper, Jack’s legs collapse under him and he lands hard on his knees.  Thinking of the intimacy he and Pitch shared makes him feel violated and nauseous and his sudden harsh panting and sobbing isn’t helping.

He heaves and is sick into the trash bin that is suddenly in front of him.  A hand strokes his back, the same hand that stroked him that night when he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t call for help, couldn’t move, couldn’t _get away_.  Now he remembers how badly he wanted to run, hide, curl in on himself because he _didn’t_ want it then and he doesn’t want _this_ now!

“Get away!” he screams, turning and shoving Pitch’s hand away from him.

Glowing eyes narrow.  “What?”

Jack spits to clear the taste of bile from his mouth.  Standing up slowly, he draws his sleeve across his mouth and says, “You heard me.  I’m telling you to get away, I’m telling you ‘ _no_ ’ and you’re going to listen this time.”

“Am I now?” Pitch asks challengingly, teasingly.  “You seemed to warm up to me rather quickly before.”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Jack says, backpedaling while shaking his head and grabbing at his hair.  He’s not going to listen to Pitch.  “Not this time.  Not anymore!”

On his last word, Jack slaps his hand over the light switch that is now right behind him.  Pitch only has time to hiss in anger as the light flickers on, dispelling him.

Jack pauses, breathing heavily at the close encounter.  He heaves again, barely making it to the barrel.  He doesn’t want to think about anything relating to Pitch, but he remembers there are other places shadows can lurk and so he runs through his apartment, turning on all the lights.

Standing in the middle of his brightly lit bedroom, all the energy drains from his body and he feels lost.  There is an emptiness inside him, and it seeps from insecurity.  He doesn’t know what to do.  Without Pitch, he is nobody, he is alone, he doesn’t have anyone else.  Really, he should . . . he should turn the lights back off and . . .

Wait!  That tugging sensation . . . it’s familiar.  It’s what compelled him to apologize in the alleyway before and the same desperate pull that attempted to stop him from reading the papers not too long ago.  It’s the shadows, the darkness, inside of him.

The realization comes with a wrenching of his mind, as if it is being pulled out of a rut.  Whispers—that he wasn’t even aware of, ones hissing to turn the lights back off—fade, and things are clear again.

He’s _not_ alone.  He has someone who will do anything to help and all he has to do is say the word.

Grabbing his cell phone, he punches in Tooth’s number.  It rings twice before she picks up and Jack doesn’t give her a chance to say anything.

“You were right, you were right about everything,” he says hoarsely, a painful lump forming in his throat and threatening to overwhelm him.

“Jack!  Are you okay?”

“I read . . . I read the papers.”  Jack’s breath hitches and he needs to stop.  He blinks and feels tears sliding down his cheeks.  Saying this out loud, especially to Tooth, is much worse than admitting it silently to himself; though he’s not doing it nearly as explicitly, Tooth understands and knows exactly what he means.  “I don’t know what to do . . . and I’m _terrified_ , terrified that—”  Jack needs to stop as he breaks down, trailing off into sobs.  In between gasps for breath he murmurs broken apologies, for not believing her, for siding with Pitch, for letting all this happen.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Tooth says calmly, but there’s an undercurrent of barely controlled panic in her voice.  She gets firmer as she continues, “Don’t apologize for anything, Jack.  I don’t care what it is you’re trying to apologize for.  You’re not allowed to, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack hiccups, trying to calm down.  Listening to Tooth take control of the situation is reassuring.  He can’t handle this, but she can.

“Good.  I’m coming over.  I can get there faster if I’m not talking with you, so are you going to be all right if I hang up?”

“All the lights are on,” Jack says, knowing she’ll understand.

“I’ll be there soon.  Hang in there.”

Despite what he said, Jack misses Tooth as soon as he presses the end call button.  The apartment is empty and lonely, but that’s much more preferable than the alternative.

He becomes aware of the nasty taste in his mouth and goes to the bathroom to rinse it away.  After several swishes, he gulps water directly from the faucet until his stomach settles.  Bracing himself, he looks into the mirror hanging above the sink.  As expected, he’s shades paler than usual, making the bags under his eyes stand out.  He’s been awake for so long: all of yesterday with only a few hours of sleep before he went to the graveyard, and then being awake for a whole day again.  He’s just so _tired_.

Resting his weight on his arms, Jack allows his eyes to slip closed.  As he hovers at the edge of consciousness, his mind wanders and the subconscious barriers he put up against the shadows weaken.  He jerks out of his half-doze when he hears Pitch’s voice directly in his ear, whispering to turn the lights off.  He isn’t sure if it was just part of a dream or if the shadows were causing hallucinations.  He would rather not think about it, so he focuses on staying awake and in his right mind.

He holds his hand over his roiling stomach as he paces his apartment, though the upset has nothing to do with being physically sick.

Finally, _finally_ , there’s a knock at the door and Tooth calls his name.  He pounces to open it and she steps in, out of breath and clearly concerned.

“I ran . . . fast as I could,” she says between gasps.  “You okay?”

Jack’s not sure how to answer her.  He doesn’t want to lie, but he also doesn’t want her to worry.

She’s _already_ worried, though.  Jack can it in see the way her hands twitch at her sides, wanting to reach out and comfort him.  He appreciates her awareness and restraint, but touch from another human being is exactly what he needs right now.  When was the last time he truly had contact more intimate than a handshake with someone who wasn’t Pitch?

Jack practically throws himself at her, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face into her shoulder.  Being in Tooth’s embrace is comforting, and her hands rubbing up and down his back soothe away the last of the sobs.  When he finally pulls away, he’s much calmer.  He wipes the residual tears off his face and looks meaningfully at Tooth.

“I want you to help me . . . help me do what we did to the gunman,” he says.

She nods solemnly.  “The method is going to be different, but it’s the same concept.  Can you help me move the table?”

As they lift the table and walk with it to the edge of the room, Tooth continues to explain.

“If there aren’t any bones to burn, we have to trap the spirit in an object.  Typically, quartz crystals are used, but a while ago my mom found that mirrors are actually effective substitutes.”

Once the table is out of the way against the wall, Tooth swings her backpack off her shoulders and digs through it, pulling out a simple hand mirror and holding it up for him to see before she places it on the floor.

“A spirit trapped by mirror will appear as the reflection whenever somebody looks into it.  But don’t worry, it’s limited only to the specific mirror used and, as long as it remains intact, the spirit won’t be able to escape.  We’ll also store in the dark, and no one can see their reflection in the dark.  You won’t have to see him ever again.”

“You have this all figured out,” Jack says, but not in an accusatory manner.  He’s incredibly grateful Tooth thought of all this and brought the supplies to do it with her.  It’s still very surreal though.  She knew he would want Pitch gone before he did.

“Yes, I do.  I was really worried for you, Jack.  I still _am_ really worried.”  Tooth pauses for a moment before continuing.  “Just to make sure, we’re doing this now, right?  I have all the supplies to do it.”

“Yeah, that would be great, actually.”  The prospect of being safe before he goes to sleep is much too good to pass up.

“Okay, good,” Tooth says as she nods.  “You can just sit back while I set it all up.  I won’t need you until the actual ritual.”

Jack allows Tooth to push him down onto the couch.  He watches as she unloads more things from her backpack and gets to work.  She draws on the floor with a piece of chalk, starting with lines extending in all directions from the mirror and then connecting the ends of the lines to form a large circle.  Candles cover the intersections and Tooth draws more lines and symbols within the circle.

He wants to help, to be useful, but he doesn’t know what he could do, or if he could even find the energy to contribute, especially not after he throws up for a third time.  The shadows inside him are practically a physical force now, making him feel ill from fighting them back.  They want him to stop Tooth, to prevent her from setting up the ritual.  Jack rejects their influence over and over again, each fight draining him more than the last.

He’s lying on the couch, shivering and weak, by the time Tooth finishes lighting the candles.  She gently places a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s ready.  Can you stand?”

“Yeah.”  Jack pushes himself up.  His steps are shaky as he allows Tooth to direct him to the edge of the circle, but if there’s one thing he can force himself to do in his current state it’s this.

“Just sit right here and keep your hand on the line.”

Jack doesn’t ask why, he just does as he’s told while staring at an unfixed spot on the floor.

“Don’t look so grim,” Tooth says with a smile, indicating his strained expression.  “It’s almost over.”

Though it isn’t easy, Jack finds it in himself to smile back at her.  He’s still beating back the shadows, and whispers occasionally make their way through.  _Is this really what he wants?  What is this going to do to Pitch?  Is he going to be able to function without Pitch?_

Jack knows that these thoughts are not his own and he shouldn’t listen to them, but their influence is growing stronger.  When Tooth beings talking again, it takes some effort to pay attention.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” she says.  “First, I’m going to turn off the lights, but you’ll be fine as long as you keep your hand just like that.”

Jack is glad of the warning and reassurance because he certainly would have panicked without them.   He braces himself as Tooth gets the lights in the other rooms first and gives her a firm nod when she reaches the last light, the one in the living room.  Jack holds his breath and time seems to stand still.

She flicks the switch.

He feels more than sees the shadows next to him shift.  A strong grip wraps around his upper arm and he shouts in surprise and fear.  The candles flare up, flames elongating, and the grip weakens in the light.

Then, it’s dragged down his arm, catching on the fabric of his hoodie.  The surrounding shadows gather around the dark outline of the hand, almost forming a shape before it is disrupted and pulled into the line under his palm, which heats up and darkens as the shadows pour into it and spread out from the point of his touch.

The grip tightens in resistance, nearly crushing the bones in his hand.  Beyond the physical sensations, he feels the shadows latch onto those inside of him, using them as an anchor.  The shadows are jerked to the surface, crawling just under his skin, attempting to reach the shadows on the outside.

They are too deeply ingrained to be pulled completely from his body, but they are being stretched as far as they can.  It causes an unbearable tension that tugs at an unfathomable part of his _soul_ , until the grip slips off his hand and something inside him _snaps_.

They’re still there, the shadows, and they cry out in anguish at being separated from Pitch’s main body.  The turmoil inside of Jack rises to a frenzied distress and he barely restrains himself from lurching forward to chase after the darkness.  Despite everything, the shadows’ efforts are futile and the line holds.

In the midst of it all, Jack thinks he can hear Pitch’s voice, calling out to him, asking him how he could do this.

Everything quiets—Pitch’s voice, if it was there at all, disappears—and Jack looks across the circle to see Tooth mirroring his position.  With her free hand, she searches her pocket and draws out a piece of paper, which she begins to read from.  Jack can’t make out her mutters, but whatever she says must be effective.  The edges of the circle lighten as the shadows recede to the center, becoming a concentrated mass so dark and dense the mirror can no longer be seen.

Jack knows he hears Pitch’s voice this time.  It’s not angry or outraged, as Jack expected, but soft and pleading.

“Jack, my Jack, are you sure this is what you want?  It would hurt you _so much_ to be separated from me.  Even the _thought_ of it hurts me.  It’s better when we’re together, isn’t it?  I can make it all better, Jack.”

Jack is prepared for fury and screaming, not this gentle persuading.  The shadows inside him roar in agreement, compelling him to listen.  He tries to fight them, but between his own imbalance and the shadows’ renewed strength, he doesn’t stand much of a chance, especially when Pitch continues speaking.

“Yes, that’s it, Jack.  You poor thing, all alone now that you’re trying to lock me away.  Remember what it was like before you had me. Do you want to be alone again, Jack?”

No, he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t!  Being alone in the darkness scares him and he needs something to hold onto, something to let him know that he isn’t going to just fade away.  Pitch _is_ the darkness and his presence is always so very tangible when he surrounds Jack, providing the security he needs.

“You only have me, don’t you?”

He does, he only has Pitch, Pitch who makes everything better, who cares for him, who _loves_ him.  That’s so much more than what anyone else has done for him.

“You’re right,” Jack hears himself say.  He stands—removing his hand from the line—and stares into the darkness in the middle of the circle.  It is formless and weak, but it’s still Pitch and Jack has to help him.

“I knew I could count on you, Jack.  Everything will be okay if you listen to me.  Now, just come here.”

There’s resistance as Jack steps over the line, but he forces his way through and continues walking, carefully avoiding knocking over the candles, until he’s at the edge of the concentrated darkness.  He hears another voice call out to him and he becomes confused.  He only has Pitch, so who is this other person?

“There’s no one else here, Jack.  There’s only you and me.  There never was anyone else.”

“Of . . . course,” he responds.  He was so sure there was another person, but there must not be if Pitch says so.

“That’s it.  You’re almost there.  Pick up the mirror.”

Jack drops to his knees.  Staring into the darkness, he knows peace.  Pitch is in there.  All Jack has to do is get the mirror and he can be with Pitch again.  He reaches into the shadows and the mirror falls into his hands.  He draws it out.

“Perfect, Jack, perfect!  There’s only one thing left to do.  Do you know what you have to do, Jack?”

The answer comes to his lips, unbidden.  “Break it.”

“Exactly!”

_no jack don’t_

There’s that other voice again, clearer this time.  His eyes flicker in its direction, but Pitch’s voice calls his gaze back to the shadows.

“Don’t listen to it, Jack.  It only wants us to be apart.”

_no, jack! please listen to ME! you can’t do this i promise this isn’t what you want_

“Isn’t it, Jack?  I _know_ you want us to be together again.  It’s for the best.”

Pitch knows what’s best for him.  He should listen to Pitch.  Jack grips the mirror tightly and raises his arms over his head.  He just needs to bring them down, smash the mirror against the ground—

“ _JACK_!”

With a sharp gasp, he is jerked back to full awareness.  His own harsh panting fills his ears and horror rises in his chest as he processes what he almost did.

“Jack!  Speak to me, I need you to talk to me!”

It’s the same voice he heard before, firm, urgent, and yet so panicked.

Tooth’s voice, it’s Tooth’s voice.  She was the one calling out to him.  She broke through the shadows’ compulsions of the shadows and brought him back to himself.  He should answer her, but he can’t keep breath in his lungs long enough to form words.

“Okay, Jack, it’s okay.  Just listen to me.  You need to calm down.  Breathe with me now.  In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . .”

He latches onto Tooth’s words and follows what she tells him to do.  In . . . out . . . listen . . . to Tooth . . .

His breathing slows and he realizes his eyes are squeezed shut.  As he opens them, he sees the shadows swirling around him, branching out from the darkness and the lines to reach for him.  He hurriedly reins in his fear and tightens his grip on the mirror as he lowers his arms.  He can’t bring himself to look at it so he throws his gaze around for Tooth.

She’s still sitting at the edge of the circle with both hands pressed to the line.  Her face is strained and the terror in her eyes, knowing he was the one who put it there, makes it difficult for Jack to keep looking at her.

“I almost lost you,” she says, her voice shaking.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, shaking his head in disbelief at what he nearly did.  “I’m so sorry.”

“What I said about apologizing before still holds.  It’s _not_ your fault.”

“But it _is_.  I shouldn’t have let _any_ of this happen in the first place.  If I hadn’t been so, so—”

“‘So’ what, Jack?  You didn’t ask for any of this.  It’s not your fault.  I’m going to keep saying it until you believe me, but I would rather that not be right now.  You need to put the mirror back and get out of the circle.  It’s unstable.”

She’s right.  The flames of the candles are sputtering and several have already gone out.  The shadows seeping out at a higher volume and Jack swears he can feel slight pressures where they brush against him.

He’s hesitant to reach into the dark mass in front of him to replace the mirror, but Tooth gives him a reassuring nod.  He has to trust her.  He has to listen to her right now, to Tooth and no one else.

As soon as his hands breach the outer layer, a tingling sensation spreads over his fingers and palms.  It threatens to crawl up his arms and overtake his whole body, to slide between his skin and fingernails, under his eyelids and inside his throat.  He immediately drops the mirror and tries to withdraw his hands.

Filaments of shadows spread from the mirror and cling to his skin, trying to pull him back in.  With a shout of surprise, Jack throws himself back, hoping to snap the threads.  Though they remain intact, they stretch and weaken, allowing him to continue to scramble backward, to the safety of the circle’s limit.

He’s able to keep a steady head, telling himself that he just needs to get out of the circle and everything will be fine, but he can’t maintain it when more shadows extend from the darkness and wrap around his ankle.

They slowly wind up his leg, pulling him back, and he knows true horror.  His mind blanks, numbs from terror at the thought of being taken by the shadows, being trapped forever with Pitch.  The shadows inside him take advantage of his vulnerability to whisper about how nice that would be, that if Pitch can’t be with him in his world, _he_ should be with Pitch wherever he is trapped—

“JACK!”  Tooth’s voice cuts through the fog around his mind once again, her panic reminding him why succumbing to those persistent murmurs is not good, not what he wants.  Even as he realizes that, he slides a few inches, pulled closer to the darkness.

“Tooth!” he calls out, looking to her for help.  He can’t get himself together enough to think anything but _don’t let the shadows get you, don’t let them take you or you won’t be able to escape!_

“Just touch the line and you’ll be fine!”

Jack desperately wonders how he’s going to do that, but it’s the only objective he has and he latches onto it.  He throws himself back and twists onto his stomach, gripping the floor with one hand and reaching out with the other, pushing as best he can with both his feet.  The line is too far away and, even as he stretches for it, the shadows tighten their grip and pull him back with a deliberate, unhurried force.  His fingernails dig into the floorboards, scraping away splinters, but doing little to halt his slide.

He pulls his leg up, bending it almost to his chest, but the shadows refuse let go.  He braces that knee against the floor and pushes against it, managing to move a few inches toward the line.  He repeats the action, slowly regaining lost ground.  He reaches out for the line again, but his fingertips are just shy of touching it.  He can feel the shadows pressing against his side, using his leg’s proximity to his upper body to crawl up his back and hook over his shoulder, pulling his arm down and shortening his reach.

He cries out in distress and fear.  He was so _close_ and now, with half his limbs tangled in the shadows, there’s not much he can do.  Maybe it would be easier to just give up.  As long as Pitch is trapped in the mirror it won’t matter if he’s there, too.  Pitch won’t be able hurt anyone else, won’t be able to hurt Tooth.

But wouldn’t _he_ hurt Tooth by allowing himself to be taken?  She would miss him and mourn for him and he’s already caused her enough trouble.

Now determined, he rocks his weight back onto his trapped leg and arm, and lunges forward, stretching his free arm forward.  His palm slaps down onto the floor, right onto the heat of the line.

Everything halts.  The shadows stop making their way up his body, the candle flames freeze, he even stops breathing.  Then, the line begins to glow, starting at the outer circle and slowly spreading inwards, chasing the lingering darkness toward the middle.  As the light sweeps over him, the clinging shadows are forced off his body, plucked from his skin and clothes like burrs from wool.

He glances back, to the center of the circle, and sees that the mass of darkness has been compacted into the small space above the now visible mirror.  The lines around it glow fiercely, almost like a force field, holding back the shadows as they try to escape.  As the light intensifies, it bends inward, forcing the darkness down, into the mirror.  It resists, fighting to avoid contact with the reflective surface, but it soon collapses on itself, leaving the mirror to absorb the remains.

The shadows inside him fly into a panic and scrabble their way to the surface, urging him to stop the ritual and break the mirror.  Their strength is so sudden that he doesn’t have the chance to fight back before they override his control.  He tries to wrench his hand off the line, but it’s unsuccessful as it refuses budge.

With a final flash of light and a gust of air that blows out the candles, the last bit of darkness is forced into the mirror.  He’s released from the shadow’s influence and is left lying there, panting.  He hears Tooth’s own heavy breathing behind him.  Slowly sitting up, Jack turns to her.  She’s already looking at him and, as soon as their eyes meet, she clambers to her feet, rushing over to him.

“Are you okay?!” she exclaims, gripping his arm and pulling him to his feet.  He’s so shaken that it takes some effort to get his legs to hold his weight.

“I-I think.  Is it over?”

“Yeah, it’s all over.  You’re done.  You’re _safe_.”

Jack almost breaks down right then from the relief flooding through him.  He won’t ever have to experience that terror again, that violation, that desperation.  Everything is going to be okay.

“There’s only one thing left for me to do,” Tooth says, walking to her backpack and taking out a towel.  She throws it over the mirror that is now resting innocently on the floor.  It doesn’t seem any different, but the lights are still off and, like Tooth said, he can’t see his reflection in the dark.

After wrapping the mirror carefully, Tooth puts the bundle into her bag.  “There.  Officially over.  I’ll store it in my mom’s trunk once I get home and talk to her about a completely permanent hiding place when she gets back.”

With the mirror hidden away, there’s no longer any need for the lights to be off.  Jack walks over to the switch and flips it up, the sudden brightness stinging his eyes briefly.  Shadows still linger, but they are of the natural variety, only appearing under furniture, so they don’t cause him unease.

When he smiles at Tooth, it doesn’t feel as empty as before.

“How about you come to my house for the night?” she asks.  “I can’t imagine you want to stay here alone tonight . . . or ever again, actually.”

Now that Tooth has mentioned it, Jack doesn’t want to spend a moment longer in this place, this apartment where he started to create what he thought were good memories.  He’s definitely going to have to look for more permanent arrangements, but Tooth’s place will do for tonight at least.

“Yeah, that would be _great_.”

“All right, I’ll clean up out here while you throw some stuff together?”

Jack just nods and heads to his room, leaving Tooth to gather the candles.  Picking up a backpack, he grabs articles of clothing at random and stuffs them into his bag.  He can come back later to get more of his stuff; right now he just needs enough for a day or two.  He passes the bathroom on his way back into the living room and remembers his toothbrush.

Flicking the light on, he reaches for the toothbrush resting on the counter.  His eyes instinctively look to the mirror over the sink to check his reflection, but the one he sees isn’t his own.

As he stares into golden eyes, his blood turns to ice and runs cold through his veins.  It feels like the ground has dropped out from under him, sending his mind reeling into chaos.  This shouldn’t be happening, Pitch _shouldn’t be_ in this mirror, he should be trapped in a different one with no hope of escape, no chance to torment Jack ever again.  Yet here he is with a sorrowful look on his face that shouldn’t be affecting Jack as much as it is.

Expecting the shadows inside him to rear up and overwhelm him, Jack is surprised when they whisper quietly that there’s nothing to fear, that deep down he was hoping for this, hoping Pitch wouldn’t be gone forever.  It catches him off guard and Pitch’s soft smile doesn’t help.

“Jack . . . it’s okay.  There’s no need to be afraid.  I’m here now, as I always will be, watching over you.

Jack stares, transfixed, unable to look away.  That’s what he’s been missing his entire life, someone who is a constant, who won’t leave him.  Pitch was that person, but now look what Jack’s done to him!

“I just want to protect you, Jack, but it’s impossible for me to do that while trapped in here.  If you free me I can care for you _completely_.  You wouldn’t have to worry about a _thing_.”

The shadows continue their persistent whispering, insisting that no one else but Pitch can protect him and take care of him so entirely.  And aren’t they right?  Pitch _killed_ the gunman for him and did everything in his power to stop the gunman’s ghost.

Jack slowly raises his hand to the mirror’s cool surface.  Pitch lifts his hand to meet his, but Jack can’t feel the heated skin of Pitch’s palm or the bony lengths of his fingers.  All he can feel is smooth glass and he needs more.

He brings his other hand up and leans over the counter until he’s as flush against the mirror as possible.  He can see the way his breath fogs the glass with every exhale and clears on the inhale, granting him a view of Pitch’s mouth, perfectly level with his own.  Jack can’t help it as he tilts his head and presses his lips to the cruel barrier that separates them.

It’s not enough, not nearly enough, it can never be enough and the worst part is that Jack’s destroyed this for himself.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers in a voice so quiet he practically only mouths the words, but Pitch understands, he always understands.

“Shhh, it’s okay.  I forgive you, Jack.  We can still be together.  You remember what I asked you to do earlier?  With the mirror?  That’s it.  That’s all you have to do and we can be together for as long as you live.”

That sounds so nice and exactly what Jack wants right now.  He can’t imagine a better future than one spent with Pitch by his side.  All he has to do is break the mirror, the one tucked away in Tooth’s backpack . . .

Jack rears back, peeling himself off the surface of the mirror.  He needs to get away from Pitch, get away from that train of thought.

“No!”

Pitch is silent for a single heart-stopping moment before he growls out, “What.”

“I don’t want that, I don’t want you, I don’t want to be around you.  Y-you . . . _raped_ me and tricked me into thinking I wanted it, but I’m not going to listen to you anymore.”

“Why are you still obsessing over that?!  I only did what was necessary to ensure we would be together.”  Pitch is still saying the same thing, but his tone is no longer soft and cajoling.  It is caustic and aggressive and Jack startles at the sudden change.  “You enjoyed it before and I can make you enjoy it again.  You can’t escape me.  Every time you look in a mirror, catch a glimpse of your reflection in a window, you’ll see me.  I'm a part of you now and I’ll always be there, under the surface.  I’ll be the itch under your skin and when you scratch, you won’t bleed red.  You’ll bleed _me_.”

Jack can’t take anymore.  He doesn’t want to listen to Pitch, but he knows he’s right in saying that.  He’s too easily influenced by the shadows and it’s dangerous, dangerous, he needs to break _this_ mirror, needs to make Pitch stop talking, even if it’s only for the moment.  Drawing his fist back and breathing hard, Jack stares defiantly at Pitch, refusing to allow him to think he’s won.  Though he has in so many ways already, hasn’t he?  The thought strikes Jack hard, stripping his actions of conviction and Jack smashes his fist into the mirror with a broken sob instead of a shout of anger.

The mirror shatters, cracks spreading out from his hand, but Jack can still see flashes of gold and gray in the splinters.  He claws at them, prying them from the frame and cutting up his fingertips.  Red covers all other colors, but Jack can’t stand to look at that either, too afraid it will be tainted with black from the shadows that intermingle with his very being.

“Jack!  What happened?  Are you okay?”

Too ashamed of his actions, Jack can’t bring himself to look at Tooth.  He stumbles away from the sound of her voice and sits heavily on the floor, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.  Digging his fingers into his hair, he can feel blood and glass shards smearing into his scalp.  It hurts and Jack almost wants to press deeper.

Small hands encircle his wrists and quickly pull his arms down.  He resists at first, but complies at Tooth’s gentle shushing.  His jaw is clenched too tightly for him to speak, so he chances a glance up at Tooth in an attempt to communicate how he’s feeling to her.

Her eyes are worried and concerned and she’s close enough for Jack to see himself in them.  Again, it’s not his reflection that he sees.  Why?  Pitch shouldn’t be _there_ , in Tooth’s eyes!  Jack squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to associate her with _him_.

“Jack, you’re hurt.  I want you to tell me how that happened in a minute, when you’re ready.  For now I’m going to clean your hand up, okay?”

He just nods, wondering how Tooth can stand to look at him.  Can she see the shadows?  He doesn’t even know if they’re actually there, but he’s too much of a coward to look, never mind ask.

As Tooth beings to pick shards of glass out of his hand and hairline, Jack tries to think of something, _anything_ else to distract from the pain and the thoughts of the shadows.  The rough texture of the damp cloth Tooth runs over his knuckles to clear away the blood feel more abrasive than normal.

“Okay, just hold this here,” she says, wrapping a dry towel around his hand and curling his fingers around it.  “This will have to do for staunching the bleeding until we can get to the full first aid kit at my house.”

As if she already hasn’t done enough, Tooth just continues to be so incredibly generous.  The least Jack can do is look her in the eye as he thanks her.  He braces himself and lifts his gaze to her face, though he avoids looking directly in her eyes.

“Thank you.  For _everything_.  You’ve done so much for me and I don’t even know how I could possibly begin to repay you.”

Tooth pause before answering, but when she speaks her voice his steady and sincere.  “That’s the great thing about _friends_ , Jack.  They don’t ask for anything in return.”

With a grateful smile, Jack lets Tooth lead the way out of the bathroom, picking up his bag as he exits.  Tooth swings her own backpack onto her shoulders and opens the door.

“How about you tell me what happened back there on the walk to my house,” she says as she walks into the hallway, “starting with what made you walk into the circle.  I have my theories, but I want to hear your account.”

Jack can’t blame her for wanting to know.  She deserves to.  Not only that, but having the shadows inside him makes him a liability, and seeing Pitch in _every_ mirror, _every_ reflective surface just makes it even more dangerous.  That doesn’t mean he’s looking forward to talking about it.  He follows her out and begins to explain.

Tooth is blessedly silent the entire time.  Jack doesn’t think he would have been able to continue if she interrupted, even to say something reassuring or supportive.  Experiencing that level of terror once was bad enough and recounting it only cements it in his memory.

Tooth doesn’t say anything relating to the topic until after they enter her house and excuse themselves from her father’s warm reception to retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom.  And even then she waits until they are secured in her room, sitting side by side on her bed with the blinds drawn and a blanket thrown over the vanity mirror.

The sting of the antiseptic brings Jack back to an acute reality.  He tries to control his shaking—a product of his anxiety, fear, and exhaustion—but the addition of pain makes that near impossible.  Tooth definitely notices, but she doesn’t address it.

“I really don’t know what to do,” she finally says as she winds gauze around his hand.  Her tone, expression, and body language clearly spell out her grim view of the situation.  “I have no idea what to do about the shadows.  Something probably went wrong during the ritual because you were in the circle, but I don’t know how to go about reversing that either.”

Of course, it’s still his fault.  If he hadn’t been so weak the shadows wouldn’t have been be able to influence and control him so easily . . .

“I know what you’re thinking, Jack,” Tooth says sternly.  “And it’s not your fault.”

Her kindness is too much.  It’s something he doesn’t deserve.  Jack pushes himself to his feet and whirls away from Tooth, lashing out with frustration intended for himself.  “The shadows made me go into the circle and they almost made me break the mirror.  _Twice_!  If something happens it’s because I couldn’t stay in control of myself and that _will_ be my fault.”

“Like I said before—and I’m going to keep saying it until you believe it—nothing, absolutely _nothing_ is your fault.  Like you just said, the shadows _made_ you do it.  You didn’t want any of this and resisted it from the very beginning.”

At Tooth’s bluntness, Jack’s agitation vanishes.  Slumping, he exhales hard and turns back to her with an apologetic look.  “It’s just really hard to convince myself of all that.”

“That’s why I’m here to help,” Tooth says, approaching him and lifting his hand to wrap the last band aid around the tip of his finger.  “And I’m planning on sticking around for a while.”

Jack smiles distantly.  He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Tooth’s confidence in him, but perhaps he can take comfort in and be inspired by it.  “Thanks.”

“Of course.”  Tooth pulls him into a hug and Jack melts into the comfort of her embrace.  “Now, I’m going to go set the couch up for you.  My mom will hopefully be home tomorrow and she can help us with this mess, okay?”

“That sounds great.”

With one last reassuring shoulder squeeze, Tooth leaves him alone in her room.

Jack sighs heavily.  He’s inconveniencing her entire family with all of his problems and it’s about time he learns to deal with them himself, starting with the shadows inside him.  If they weren’t able to bend his will as they are, he wouldn’t have gone into the circle, he wouldn’t have tried to break the mirror and everything would have gone according to plan.  If he had been stronger he wouldn’t have succumbed to Pitch in the first place.

The answer isn’t covering up mirrors in every room he enters for the rest of his life.  Reflections can be seen everywhere, from the windows on a car driving by to the eyes of a trusted friend.  Such a palliative solution isn’t an option if he wants to live a normal life—at the very least one without constant fear and paranoia—which he _is_ determined to do.  He’s going to recover from this; he’s not going to let Pitch win.

Sure of himself for the first time in months, Jack makes a personal vow.

 _You know what the first step is_ , he tells himself.  _You have to rid yourself of the dark in you._


End file.
